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■^ ^ '-/ A>f, •6 3. /7'^^
HARVARD
COLLEGE
LIBRARY
THE LAST DAYS
OF POMPEII
**Such is Vesuvius ! and these things take place in it every year.
But all eruptions which have happened since would be trifling, even
if all summed into one, compared to what occurred at the period we
refer to. . . .
''Day was turned into night, and light into darkness; an inex-
pressible quantity of dust and ashes was poured out, deluging land,
sea, and air, and burying two entire cities, Herculaneum and Pompeii,
while the people were sitting in the theatre ! " — DiON Cassius, lib.
Ixvi.
t returned!" she said ii
9
1
OF!'
I «
i 4 ; i
" So you are returned ! '" she said in a low v
• m^ ■■«
TFU
LAST DAYS OI
POMPEII
B-
EDWARD BULWCR LYTIC %' ; |
llluslrated by
C. H. WHITE
Charles Scribner's Sons
New York . . . • 1902
^A'/Ji-/, 33, ' 7'/^
i^
ComUGHT, 1903, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
So
SIR WILLIAM CELL,
&C., &C.
Dear Sir,
In publishing a work, of which Pompeii fur-
nishes the subject, I can think of no one to whom it
can so fitly be dedicated as yourself. Your charming
volumes upon the antiquities of that City have indis-
solubly connected your name with its earlier — (as your
residence in the vicinity has identified you with its
more recent) — ^associations.
Ere you receive these volumes, I hope to be deep
in the perusal of your forthcoming work upon " the
Topography of Rome and its Vicinity." The glance
at its contents which you permitted me at Naples suf-
ficed to convince me of its interest and value ; and, as
an Englishman, and as one who has loitered under the
Portico, I rejoice to think that, in adding largely to
your own reputation, you will also renovate our coun-
try's claim to eminence in those departments of learn-
ing in which of late years we have but feebly supported
our ancient reputation. Venturing thus a prediction
of the success of your work, it would be a little super-
fluous to express a wish for the accomplishment of
the prophecy ! But I may add a more general hope,
that you will long have leisure and inclination for those
literary pursuits to which you bring an erudition so
extensive; — ^and that they may continue, as now,
sometimes to beguile you from yourself, and never
to divert you from your friends.
I have the honour to be.
Dear Sir,
Very faithfully yours,
THE AUTHOR.
Leamington,
September 21, 1834.
• •
Vll
PREFACE
TO THE FIRST EDITION, 1834
On visiting those disinterred remains of an ancient
city which, more perhaps than either the delicious
breeze or the cloudless sun, the violet valleys and
orange-groves of the South, attract the traveller to the
neighbourhood of Naples ; on viewing, still fresh and
vivid, the houses, the streets, the temples, the theatres
of a place existing in the haughtiest age of the Roman
empire — it was not unnatural, perhaps, that a writer
who had before laboured, however unworthily, in the
art to revive and to create, should feel a keen desire
to people once more those deserted streets, to repair
those graceful ruins, to reanimate the bones which
were yet spared to his survey ; to traverse the gulf of
eighteen centuries, and to wake to a second existence
— the City of the Dead!
And the reader will easily imagine how sensibly this
desire grew upon one whose task was undertaken in
the immediate neighbourhood of Pompeii — ^the sea
that once bore her commerce, and received her fugi-
tives, at his feet — ^and the fatal mountain of Vesuvius
still breathing forth smoke and fire constantly before
his eyes!^
I was aware from the first, however, of the great
difficulties with which I had to contend. To paint the
manners, and exhibit the life, of the Middle Ages,
required the hand of a master genius; yet, perhaps,
that task was slight and easy in comparison with the
1 Nearly the whole of this work was written at Naples last
winter (1833-33).
iz
X PREFACE
I
attempt to portray a far earlier and more unfamiliar
period. With the men and customs of the feudal time
we have a natural sympathy and bond of alliance;
those men were our own ancestors — from those cus-
toms we received our own — ^the creed of our chivalric
fathers is still ours — their tombs yet consecrate our
churches — the ruins of their castles yet frown over
our valleys. We trace in their struggles for liberty
and for justice our present institutions; and in the
elements of their social state we behold the origin of
our own.
But with the classical age we have no household
and familiar associations. The creed of that departed
reHgion, the customs of that past civilisation, present
little that is sacred or attractive to our northern im-
aginations; they are rendered yet more trite to us
by the scholastic pedantries which first acquainted
us with their natures, and are linked with the recollec-
tion of studies which were imposed as a labour, and
not cultivated as a delight.
Yet the enterprise, though arduous, seemed to me
worth attempting ; and in the time and the scene I have
chosen, much may be found to arouse the curiosity
of the reader, and enlist his interest in the descriptions
of the author. It was the first century of our religion ;
it was the most civilised period of Rome ; the conduct
of the story lies amidst places whose relics we yet
trace ; the catastrophe is among the most awful which
the tragedies of Ancient History present to our sur-
vey.
From the ample materials before me, my endeavour
has been to select those which would be most attrac-
tive to a modern reader; — the customs and supersti-
tions least unfamiliar to him — the shadows that, when
reanimated, would present to him such images as,
while they represented the past, might be least unin-
teresting to the speculations of the present. It did
'(^^V'-s
PREFACE xi
indeed require a greater self-control than the reader
may at first imagine, to reject much that was most
inviting in itself ; but which, while it might have added
attraction to parts of the work, would have been in-
jurious to the symmetry of the whole. Thus, for
instance, the date of my story is that of the short reign
of Titus, when Rome was at its proudest and most
gigantic eminence of luxury and power. It was, there-
fore, a most inviting temptation to the Author to
conduct the characters of his tale, during the progress
of its incidents, from Pompeii to Rome. What could
afford such materials for description, or such field for
the vanity of display, as that gorgeous city of the
world, whose grandeur could lend so bright an inspira-
tion to fancy — so favourable and so solemn a dignity
to research? But, in choosing for tny subject, my
catastrophe, the Destruction of Pompeii, it required
but little insight into the higher principles of art to
perceive that to Pompeii the story should be rigidly
confined.
Placed in contrast with the mighty pomp of Rome,
the luxuries and gaud of the vivid Campanian city
would have sunk into insignificance. Her awful fate
would have seemed but a petty and isolated wreck in
the vast seas of the imperial sway; and the auxiliary
I should have summoned to the interest of my story
would only have destroyed and overpowered the cause
it was invoked to support. I was therefore compelled
to relinquish an episodical excursion so alluring in
itself, and, confining my story strictly to Pompeii, to
leave to others the honour of delineating the hollow
but majestic civilisation of Rome.
The city, whose fate supplied me with so superb and
awful a catastrophe, supplied easily, from the first
survey of its remains, the characters most suited to
the subject and the scene : the half-Grecian colony of
Hercules, mingling with the manners of Italy so much
of the costumes of Hellas, suggested of itself the
xii PREFACE
characters of Glaucus and lone. The worship of Isis,
its existent fane, with its false oracles unveiled — ^the
trade of Pompeii with Alexandria — the associations
of the Sarnus with the Nile, — called forth the Egyptian
Arbaces, the base Calenus, and the fervent Apaecides.
The early struggles of Christianity with the heathen
superstition suggested the creation of Olinthus: and
the burnt fields of Campania, long celebrated for the
spells of the sorceress, naturally produced the Saga of
Vesuvius. For the existence of the Blind Girl, I am
indebted to a casual conversation with a gentleman,
well known amongst the English at Naples for his gen-
eral knowledge of the many paths of life. Speaking
of the utter darkness which accompanied the first re-
corded eruption of Vesuvius, and the additional ob-
stacle it presented to the escape of the inhabitants,
he observed that the blind would be the most favoured
in such a moment, and find the easiest deliverance. In
this remark originated the creation of Nydia.
The characters, therefore, are the natural offspring
of the scene and time. The incidents of the tale are
equally consonant, perhaps, to the then existent soci-
ety ; for it is not only the ordinary habits of life, the
feasts and the forum, the baths and the amphitheatre,
the commonplace routine of the classic luxury, which
we recall the past to behold ; — equally important, and
more deeply interesting, are the passions, the crimes,
the misfortunes, and reverses that might have chanced
to the shades we thus summon to life ! We understand
any epoch of the world but ill if we do not examine
its romance. There is as much truth in the poetry of
life as in its prose.
As the greatest difficulty in treating of an unfamiliar
and distant period is to make the characters introduced
" live and move " before the eye of the reader, so such
should doubtless be the first object of a work of the
present description ; and all attempts at the display of
learning should be considered but as means subser-
PREFACE xiii
vient to this, the main requisite of fiction. The first
art of the Poet (the creator) is to breathe the breath
of life into his creatures — ^the next is to make their
words and actions appropriate to the era in which they
are to speak and act. This last art is, perhaps, the
better effected by not bringing the art itself constantly
before the reader — ^by not crowding the page with
quotations, and the margin with notes. The intuitive
spirit which infuses antiquity into ancient images, is,
perhaps, the true learning which a work of this nature
requires; without it, pedantry is offensive — with it,
useless. No man who is thoroughly aware of what
Prose Fiction has now become — of its dignity, of its
influence, of the manner in which it has gradually
absorbed all similar departments of literature, of its
pMDwer in teaching as well as amusing— can so far for-
get its connection with History, with Philosophy, with
Politics — its utter harmony with Poetry and obedience
to Truth — as to debase its nature to the level of
scholastic frivolities: he raises scholarship to the
creative, and does not bow the creative to the scho-
lastic.
With respect to the language used by the characters
introduced, I have studied carefully to avoid what has
always seemed to me a fatal error in those who have
attempted, in modern times, to introduce the beings
of a classical age.^ Authors have mostly given to
^ What the strong^common sense of Sir Walter Scott has
expressed so well in his preface to " Ivanhoe " (ist edition),
appears to me at least as applicable to a writer who draws
from classical as to one who borrows from feudal antiquity.
Let me avail myself of the words I refer to, and humbly and
reverently appropriate them for the moment : — " It is true that
I neither can, nor do pretend, to the observation [observance?]
of complete accuracy even in matters of outward costume,
much less in the more important points of language and man-
ners. But the same motive which prevents my writing the
dialogue of the piece in Anglo-Saxon, or in Norman-French
[in Latin or in Greek], and which prohibits my sending forth
this essay printed with the types of Caxton or Wynken de
Worde [written with a reed upon five rolls of parchment, fast-
xiv PREFACE
them the stilted sentences, the cold and didactic solem-
nities of language which they find in the more admired
of the classical writers. It is an error as absurd to
make Romans in common life talk in the periods of
Cicero, as it would be in a novelist to endow his
English personages with the long-drawn sentences of
Johnson or Burke. The fault is the greater, because,
while it pretends to learning, it betrays in reality the
ignorance of just criticism — it fatigues, it wearies, it
revolts — ^and we have not the satisfaction, in yawning,
to think that we yawn eruditely. To impart anything
like fidelity to the dialogues of classic actors, we must
beware (to use a university phrase) how we " cram "
for the occasion ! Nothing can give to a writer a more
stiff and uneasy gait than the sudden and hasty adop-
tion of the toga. We must bring to our task the
familiarised knowledge of many years; the allusions,
the phraseology, the language generally, must flow
from a stream that has long been full ; the flowers
must be transplanted from a living soil, and not bought
secondhand at the nearest market-place. This ad-
ened to a cylinder, and adorned with a hoss^y prevents attempt-
ing to confine myself within the limits of the period to which
my story is laid. It is necessary for exciting interest of any
kind, that the subject assumed should be, as it were, translated
into the manners as well as the language of the age we live in.
* * If ^n :^^ Hf ^^
" In point of justice, therefore, to the multitudes who will,
I trust, devour this book with avidity [hem!], I have so far
explained ancient manners in modern language, and so far
detailed the characters and sentiments of my persons, that the
modern reader will not find himself, I should hope, much
trammelled by the repulsive dryness of mere antiquity. In this,
I respectfully contend, I have in no respect exceeded the fair
license due to the author of a fictitious composition.
*♦**♦♦♦
" It is true," proceeds my authority, " that this license is
confined within legitimate bounds; the author must intro-
duce nothing inconsistent with the manners of the age." —
Preface to " Ivanhoe.**
I can add nothing to these judicious and discriminating re-
marks; they form the canon of true criticism, by which all
fiction that portrays the past should be judged.
PREFACE
XV
vantage — which is, in fact, only that of familiarity with
our subject — ^is one derived rather from accident than
merit, and depends upon the degree in which the
classics have entered into the education of our youth
and the studies of our maturity. Yet, even did a writer
possess the utmost advantage of this nature which
education and study can bestow, it might be scarcely
possible so entirely to transport himself to an age so
different from his own, but that he would incur some
inaccuracies, some errors of inadvertence or forgetful-
ness. And when, in works upon the manners of the
ancients — works even of the gravest character, com-
posed by the profoundest scholars — some such imper-
fections will often be discovered, even by a critic in
comparison but superficially informed, it would be far
too presumptuous in me to hope that I have been more
fortunate than men infinitely more learned, in a work
in which learning is infinitely less required. It is for
this reason that I venture to believe that scholars
themselves will be the most lenient of my judges.
Enough if this book, whatever its imperfections,
should be found a portrait — unskijful, perhaps, in
colouring, faulty in drawing, but not altogether un-
faithful to the features and the costume of the age
which I have attempted to paint. May it be (what is
far more important) a just representation of the human
passions and the human heart, whose elements in all
ages are the same !
PREFACE
TO THE EDITION OF 1850
This work has had the gfood fortune to be so general
a favourite with the Public, that the Author is spared
the task of obtruding any comments in its vindication
from adverse criticism. The profound scholarship of
German criticism, which has given so minute an at-
tention to the domestic life of the ancients, has suffi-
ciently testified to the general fidelity with which the
manners, habits, and customs, of the inhabitants of
Pompeii have been described in these pages. And
writing the work almost on the spot, and amidst a
population that still preserve a strong family likeness
to their classic forefathers, I could scarcely fail to
catch something of those living colours which mere
book-study alone would not have sufficed to bestow.
It is, I suspect, to this accidental advantage that this
work is principally indebted for a greater popularity
than has hitherto attended the attempts of scholars to
create an interest, by fictitious narrative,' in the man-
ners and persons of a classic age. Perhaps, too, the
writers I allude to, and of whose labours I would speak
with the highest respect, did not sufficiently remember,
that in works of imagination, the description of man-
ners, however important as an accessory, must still be
subordinate to the vital elements of interest, viz., plot,
character, and passion. And in reviving the ancient
shadows, they have rather sought occasion to display
erudition, than to show how the human heart beats
the same, whether under the Grecian tunic or the
Roman toga. It is this, indeed, which distinguishes
the imitators of classic learning from the classic litera-
ture itself. For, in classic literature, there is no want
xvii
xviii PREFACE
of movement and passion — of all the more animated
elements of what we now call Romance. Indeed, ro-
mance itself, as we take it from the Middle Ages,
owes much to Grecian fable. Many of the adventures
of knight-errantry are borrowed either from the trials
of Ulysses, or the achievements of Theseus, and while
Homer, yet unrestored to his throne among the poets,
was only known to the literature of early chivalry in
a spurious or grotesque form — ^the genius of Gothic
fiction was constructing many a tale for Northern
wonder from the mutilated fragments of the divine old
tale-teller.
Amongst these losses of the past which we have
most to deplore are the old novels or romances for
which Miletus was famous. But, judging from all
else of Greek literature that is left to us, there can be
little doubt that they were well fitted to sustain the
attention of lively and impatient audiences by the
same arts which are necessary to the modern tale-
teller; that they could not have failed in variety of
incident and surprises of ingenious fancy ; in the con-
trasts of character ; and least of all in the delineations
of the tender passion, which, however modified in its
expression by differences of national habits, forms the
main subject of human interest, in all the multiform
varieties of fictitious narrative — from the Chinese to
the Arab — from the Arab to the Scandinavian — and
which, at this day, animates the tale of many an itiner-
ant Boccaccio, gathering his spell-bound listeners
round him, on sunny evenings, by the Sicilian seas.
CONTENTS
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
PAGB
The Two Gentlemen of Pompeii i
CHAPTER n
The Blind Flower-Girl, and the Beauty of Fashion — The
Athenian's Confession — The Reader's Introduction to
Arbaces of Egypt 5
CHAPTER in
Parentage of Glaucus — Description of the Houses of Pom-
peii— A Classic Revel . 19
CHAPTER IV
The Temple of Isis — Its Priest — The Character of Arbaces
Develops Itself 41
CHAPTER V
More of the Flower Girl — The Progress of Love . . 52
CHAPTER VI
The Fowler Snares again the Bird that had just Escaped,
and Sets his Nets for a New Victim . . . .62
CHAPTER VII
The Gay Life of the Pompeian Lounger — A Miniature
Likeness of the Roman Baths TJ
CHAPTER VIII
Arbaces Cogs his Dice with Pleasure, and Wins the Game 90
xix
CONTENTS
BOOK II
CHAPTER I
PA6B
"A Flash House" in Pompeii — and the Gentlemen of
the Classic Ring io8
CHAPTER II
Two Worthies ii8
CHAPTER III
Glaucus Makes a Purchase that Afterwards Costs him
Dear 124
CHAPTER IV
The Rival of Glaucus Presses Onward in the Race . . 132
CHAPTER V
The Poor Tortoise — New Changes for Nydia . . . 147
CHAPTER VI
The Happy Beauty and the Blind Slave . . • • 154
CHAPTER VII
lone Entrapped — The Mouse Tries to Gnaw the Net . . 161
CHAPTER VIII
The Solitude and Soliloquy of the Egyptian — His Char-
acter Analysed 168
CHAPTER IX
What Becomes of lone in the House of Arbaces — ^The
First Signal of the Wrath of the Dread Foe . .182
CONTENTS xxl
BOOK III
CHAPTER I
PAGB
The Forum of the Pompeians — The First Rude Machinery
by which the New Era of the World was Wrought . 196
CHAPTER n
The Noonday Excursion on the Campanian Seas . . 204
CHAPTER HI
The Congregation 216
CHAPTER IV
The Stream of Love Runs On — Whither? . . . 227
CHAPTER V
Nydia Encounters Julia — Interview with the Heathen Sis-
ter and Converted Brother — An Athenian's Notion of
Christianity 241
CHAPTER VI
The Porter — The Girl — And the Gladiator . . . 249
CHAPTER VII
The Dressing-Room of a Pompeian Beauty — Important
Conversation between Julia and Nydia .... 257
CHAPTER VIII
Julia Seeks Arbaces — The Result of that Interview • . 265
CHAPTER IX
A Storm in the South—The Witch's Cavern . • .272
xxii CONTENTS
CHAPTER X
PAGB
The Lord of the Burning Belt and his Minion — Fate
Writes her Prophecy in Red Letters, but Who Shall
Read Them ? 286
CHAPTER XI
Progress of Events — The Plot Thickens — The Web is
Woven, but the Net Changes Hands .... 296
BOOK IV
CHAPTER I
Reflections on the Zeal of the Early Christians — ^Two Men
Come to a Perilous Resolve — Walls Have Ears — par-
ticularly Sacred Walls 307
CHAPTER n
A Classic Host, Cook, and Kitchen — Apaecides Seeks
lone — Their Conversation 311
CHAPTER HI
A Fasliionable Party and a Dinner a la Mode in Pompeii 325
CHAPTER IV
The Story Halts for a Moment at an Episode . , . 347
CHAPTER V
The Philtre— Its Effect . . . . . . .352
CHAPTER VI
A Reunion of Different Actors — Streams that Flowed
Apparently Apart Rush into One Gulf .... 358
CHAPTER VII
In which the Reader Learns the Condition of Glaucus —
Friendship Tested — Enmity Softened — Love the Same
— ^because the One Loving is Blind .... 372
CONTENTS xxiii
t
CHAPTER VIII
PAcn
A Classic Funeral 384
CHAPTER IX
In which an Adventure Happens to lone . ' . . . 394
CHAPTER X
What Becomes of Nydia in the House of Arbaces — The
Egyptian Feels Compassion for Glaucus — Compassion
is Often a very Useless Visitor to the Guilty . . 397
CHAPTER XI
Nydta Affects the Sorceress 403
CHAPTER XII
A Wasp Ventures into the Spider's Web .... 408
CHAPTER XIII
The Slave Consults the Oracle — They who Blind Them-
selves the Blind- may Fool — Two New Prisoners Made
in One Night 413
CHAPTER XIV
Nydia Accosts Calenus . 422
CHAPTER XV
Arbaces and lone — Nydia Gains the Garden — Will She
Escape and Save the Athenian? 425
CHAPTER XVI
The Sorrow of Boon Companions for our Afflictions —
The Dungeon and its Victims . . . . . . 435
CHAPTER XVII
A Change for Glaucus 444
XXIV CONTENTS
BOOK V
CHAPTER I
PAGB
The Dream of Arbaces — A Visitor and a Warning to the
Eg3rptian 464
CHAPTER II
The Amphitheatre 476
CHAPTER III
Sallust and Nydia's Letter 496
CHAPTER IV
The Amphitheatre Once More 498
CHAPTER V
The Cell of the Prisoner and the Den of the Dead — Grief
Unconscious of Horror 509
CHAPTER VI
Calenus and Burbo — Diomed and Clodius — The Girl of
the Amphitheatre and Julia 514
CHAPTER VII
The Progress of the Destruction . . . . . . 520
CHAPTER VIII
Arbaces Encounters Glaucus and lone .... 526
CHAPTER IX
The Despair of the Lovers — The Condition of the Mul-
titude 530
CHAPTER X
The Next Morning— The Fate of Nydia . . . .535
CHAPTER THE LAST
Wherein All Things Cease 538
NOTES 545
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
" So you are returned ! " said she in a low voice. Frontispiece
Facing
page
They both gazed on the mountain as lone said these words. 60
Arbaces the Egyptian 266
In the Spollarlum 512
THELAST DAYS OF
POMPEII
BOOK I
Quid sit futurum eras, fuge quaerere; et
Quem Fors dierum cumque dabit, lucro
Adpone; nee dulees amores
Speme, puer, neque tu ehoreas.
HoR. lib. i. od. ix.
The future in the morrow shun to seek;
Each day that Fate shall give thee, count as gain ; —
Nor spurn, O youth, sweet loves,
Nor choral dance, and song.
CHAPTER I
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF POMPEII.
" Ho, Diomed, well met ! Do you sup with Glaucus
to-night ? " said a young man of small stature, who
wore his tunic in those loose and effeminate folds
which proved him to be a gentleman and a coxcomb.
" Alas, no ! dear Clodius ; he has not invited me,"
replied Diomed, a man of portly frame and of middle
age. " By Pollux, a scurvy trick ! for they say his
suppers are the best in Pompeii."
** Pretty well — though there is never enough of wine
for me. It is not the old Greek blood that flows in his
veins, for he pretends that wine makes him dull the
next morning."
I
2 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" There may be another reason for that thrift," said
Diomed, raising his brows. " With all his conceit and
extravagance he is not so rich, I fancy, as he affects
to be, and perhaps loves to save his amphorae better
than his wit."
" An additional reason for supping with him while
the sesterces last. Next year, Diomed, we must find
another Glaucus."
" He is fond of the dice, too, I hear."
" He is fond of every pleasure ; and while he likes
the pleasure of giving suppers, we are all fond of
him."
" Ha, ha, Clodius, that is well said ! Have you ever
seen my wine-cellars, by the by ? "
" I think not, my good Diomed."
" Well, you must sup with me some evening ; I have
tolerable muraense^ in my reservoir, and I will ask
Pansa the aedile to meet you."
" O, no state with me ! — Persicos odi apparatus, I am
easily contented. Well, the day wanes ; I am for the
baths — and you "
" To the quaestor — ^business of state — afterwards to
the temple of Isis. Vale! "
"An ostentatious, bustling, ill-bred fellow," mut-
tered Clodius to himself, as he sauntered slowly away.
" He thinks with Kis feasts and his wine-cellars to
make us forget that he is the son of a freedman: —
and so he will, when we do him the honour of win-
ning his money ; these rich plebeians are a harvest for
us spendthrift nobles.'^
Thus soliloquising, Clodius arrived in the Via Do-
mitiana, which was crowded with passengers and
chariots, and exhibited all that gay and animated ex-
1 Murana — lampreys.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 3
uberance of life and motion which we find at this day
in the streets of Naples.
The bells of the cars as they rapidly glided by each
other jingled merrily on the ear, and Clodius with
smiles or nods claimed familiar acquaintance with
whatever equipage was most elegant or fantastic: in
fact, no idler was better known in Pompeii.
"What, Clodius! and how have you slept on your
good fortune ? " cried, in a pleasant and musical voice,
a young man in a chariot of the most fastidious and
graceful fashion. Upon its surface of bronze w«re
elaborately wrought, in the still exquisite workman-
ship of Greece, reliefs of the Olympian games : the two
horses that drew the car were of the rarest breed of-
Parthia; their slender limbs seemed to disdain the
ground and court the air, and yet at the slightest touch
of the charioteer, who stood behind the young owner
of the equipage, they paused, motionless, as if sudden-
ly tranafenned into stone — lifeless, but lifelike, as one
of the breathing wonders of Praxiteles. The owner
himself was of that slender and beautiful symmetry
from which the sculptors of Athens drew their mod-
els ; his Grecian origin betrayed itself in his light but
clustering locks, and the perfect harmony of his feat-
ures. He wore no toga, which in the time of the em-
perors had indeed ceased to be the general distinction
of the Romans, and was especially ridiculed by the
pretenders to fashion ; but his tunic glowed in the rich-
est hues of the Tyrian dye, and the fibulae, or buckles,
by which it was fastened, sparkled with emeralds:
around his neck was a chain of gold, which in the mid-
dle of his breast twisted itself into the form of a ser-
pent's head, from the mouth of which hung pendent
a large signet ring of elaborate and most exquisite
4 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
workmanship ; the sleeves of the tunic were loose, and
fringed at the hand with gold: and across the waist
a girdle wrought in arabesque design, and of the same
material as the fringe, served in lieu of pockets for
the receptacle of the handkerchief and the purse, the
stilus and the tablets*
" My dear Glaucus ! " said Clodius, " I rejoice to see
that your losses have so little affected your mien.
Why, you seem as if you had been inspired by Apollo,
and your face shines with happiness like a glory; any
one might take you for the winner, and me for the
loser/'
" And what is there in the loss or gain of those dull
pieces of metal that should change our spirit, my
Clodius ? By Venus ! while yet young, we can cover
our full locks with chaplets — while yet the cithara
sounds on unsated ears — while yet the smile of Lydia
or of Chloe flashes over our veins in which the blood
runs so swiftly, so long shall we find delight in the
sunny air, and make bald time itself but the treasurer
of our joys. You sup with me to-night, you know."
" Who ever forgets the invitation of Glaucus ! "
" But which way go you now ? "
" Why, I thought of visiting the baths ; but it wants
yet an hour to the usual time."
» " Well, I will dismiss my chariot, and go with you.
So, so, my Phylias," stroking the horse nearest to him,
which by a low neigh and with backward ears, play-
fully acknowledged the courtesy : " a holiday for you
to-day. Is he not handsome, Clodius? "
" Worthy of Phoebus," returned the noble parasite,
— " or of Glaucus."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 5
CHAPTER II
THE BLIND FLOWER-GIRL, AND THE BEAUTY OF FASHION.
— ^THE Athenian's confession. —
TRODUCTION TO ARBACES OF EGYPT.
— ^THE Athenian's confession. — the reader's in-
Talking lightly on a thousand matters, the two
young men sauntered through the streets: they were
now in that quarter which was filled with the gayest
shops, their open interiors all and ^ach rgdiant with
the gaudy yet harmonious colours of frescoes, incon-
ceivably varied in fancy and design. The sparkling
fountains that at every vista threw upwards their
grateful spray in the summer air ; the crowd of passen-
gers, or rather loiterers^ mostly clad in robes of the
Tyrian dye ; the gay groups collected round each more
attractive shop; the slaves passing to and fro with
buckets of bronze, cast in the most graceful shapes,
and borne upon their heads ; the country girls stationed
at frequent intervals with baskets of blushing fruit,
and flowers more alluring to the ancient Italians than
to their descendants (with whom, indeed, " latet anguis
in herba/' a disease seems lurking in every violet and
rose),^ the numerous haunts which fulfilled with that
idle people the office of cafes and clubs at this day ; the
shops, where on shelves of marble were ranged the
vases of wine and oil, and before whose thresholds,
seats, protected from the sun by a purple awning, in-
vited the weary to rest and the indolent to lounge —
made a scene of such glowing and vivacious excitement
as might well give the Athenian spirit of Glaucus an
excuse for its susceptibility to joy.
" Talk to me no more of Rome,'' said he to Clodius.
* See note (a) at the end.
6 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Pleasure is tod stately and ponderous in those mighty
walls : even in the precincts of the court — even in the
Golden House of Nero, and the incipient glories of the
palace of Titus, there is a certain dulness of magnifi-
cence— ^the eye aches — the spirit is wearied; besides,
my Clodius, we are discontented when we compare the
enormous luxury and wealth of others with the medi-
ocrity of our own state. But here we surrender our-
selves easily to pleasure, and we have the brilliancy of
luxury without the lassitude of its pomp."
" It was from that feeling that you chose your sum-
mer retreat at Pompeii ? "
" It was. I prefer it to Baiae : I grant the charms
of the latter, but I love not the pedants who resort
there, and who seem to weigh out their pleasures by the
drachm."
" Yet you are fond of the learned, too ; and as for
poetry, why your house is literally eloquent with
i^schylus and Homer, the epic and the drama."
" Yes, but those Romans who mimic my Athenian
ancestors do everything so heavily. Even in the chase
they make their slaves carry Plato with them; and
whenever the boar is lost, out they take their books
and their papyrus, in order not to lose their time too.
When the dancing-girls swim before them in all the
blandishment of Persian manners, some drone of a
freedman, with a face of stone, reads them a section
of Cicero De OfUciis, Unskilful pharmacists! pleas-
ure and study are not elements to be thus mixed to-
gether— they must be enjoyed separately : the Romans
lose both by this pragmatical affectation of refinement,
and prove that they have no souls for either. Oh, my
Clodius, how little your countrymen know of the true
versatility of a Pericles, of the true witcheries. of an
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII ^
Aspasia ! It was but the other day that I paid a visit
to Pliny ; he was sitting in his summer-house writing,
while an unfortunate slave played on the tibia. His
nephew (oh! whip me such philosophical coxcombs!)
was reading Thucydides' description of the plague, and
nodding his conceited little head in time to the music,
while his lips were repeating all the loathsome details
of that terrible delineation. The puppy saw nothing
incongruous in learning at the same time a ditty of
love and a description of the plague."
" Why, they are much the same thing," said Clodius.
" So I told him, in excuse for his coxcombry ; — ^but
my youth stared me rebukingly in the face, without
taking the jest, and answered^ that it was only the in-
sensate ear that the music pleased, whereas the book
(the description of the plague, mind you!) elevated
the heart. * Ah ! ' quoth the fat uncle, wheezing, ' my
boy is quite an Athenian, always mixing the utile with
the dulce,' O Minerva^ how I laughed in my sleeve!
While I was there, they came to tell the boy-sophist
that his favourite freedman was just dead of a fever.
* Inexorable death ! ' cried he ; — * get me my Horace.
How beautifully the sweet poet consoles us for these
misfortunes ! ' Oh, can these men love, my Clodius ?
Scarcely even with the senses. How rarely a Roman
has a heart ! He is but the mechanism of genius — he
wants its bones and flesh."
Though Clodius was secretly a little sore at these
remarks on his countrymen, he affected to sympathise
with his friend, partly because he was by nature a
parasite, and partly because it was the fashion among
the dissolute Romans to affect a little contempt for the
very birth which, in reality, made them so arrogant;
it was the mode to imitate the Greeks, and yet to laugh
at their own clumsy imitation.
8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Thus conversing, their steps were arrested by a
crowd gathered round an open space where three
streets met; and, just where the porticoes of a light
and graceful temple threw their shade, there stood a
young girl, with a flower-basket on her right arm, and
a small three-stringed instrument of music in the left
hand, to whose low and soft tones she was modulating
a wild and half-barbaric air. At every pause in the
music, she gracefully waved her flower-basket round,
inviting the loiterers to buy — and many a sesterce was
showered into the basket, either in compliment to the
music or in compassion to ,the songstress — for she was
blind.
It is my poor Thessalian," said Glaucus, stopping;
I have not seen her since my return to Pompeii.
Hush ! her voice is sweet : let us listen."
THE BLIND FLOWER-GIRL'S SONG
I.
Buy my flowers — O buy — I pray!
The blind girl comes from afar;
If the earth be as fair as I hear them say,
These flowers her children are!
Do they her beauty keep?
They are fresh from her lap, I know;
For I caught them fast asleep
In her arms an hour ago.
With the air which is her breath —
Her soft and delicate breath —
Over them murmuring low!
On their lips her sweet kiss lingers yet,
And their cheeks with her tender t?ars are wet.
For she weeps — that gentle mother weeps —
(As morn and night her watch she keeps,
With a yearning heart and a passionate care)
t(
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 9
To see the young things grow so fair;
She weeps — for love she weeps;
And the dews- are the tears, she weeps
From the well of a mother's love!
II.
Ye have a world of light,
Where love in the loved rejoices ;
But the blind girl's home is the House of Night,
And its beings are empty voices.
As one in the realm below,
I stand by the streams of woe!
1 hear the vain shadows glide,
I feel their soft breath at my side,
And I thirst the loved forms to see,
And I stretch my fond arms around
And I catch but a shapeless sound,
For the living are ghosts to me.
Come buy — come buy! —
Hark! how the sweet things sigh
(For they have a voice like ours),
* The breath of the blind girl closes
The leaves of the saddening roses —
We are tender, we sons of light,
' We shrink from this child of night,
From the grasp of the 'blind girl free us;
We yearn for the eyes that see us—
We are for night too gay,
In your eyes we behold the day —
O buy— O buy the flowers ! ' "
" I must have yon bunch of violets, sweet Nydia,"
said Glaucus, pressing through the crowd, and drop-
ping a handful of small coins into the basket ; " your
voice is more charming than ever."
The blind girl started forward as she heard the
Athenian's voice; then as suddenly paused, while the
blood rushed violently over neck, cheek, and temples.
10 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" So you are returned ! " said she, in a lo>y voice ;
and then repeated half to herself, " Glaucus is re-
turned ! "
" Yes, child, I have not been at Pompeii above a few
days. My garden wants your care, as before; you
will visit it, I trust, to-morrow. And mind, no gar-
lands at my house shall be woven by any hands but
those of the pretty Nydia."
Nydia smiled joyously, but did not answer; and
Glaucus^ placing in his breast the violets he had se-
lected, turned gaily and carelessly from the crowd.
" So she is a sort of client of yours, this child? " said
Clodius.
" Ay — does she not sing prettily ? She interests me,
the poor slave! Besides, she is from the land of the
Gods' hill — Olympus frowned upon her cradle — she is
of Thessaly."
" The witches' country."
" True : but for my part I find every woman a witch ;
and at Pompeii, by Venus ! the very air seems to have
taken a love-philtre, so handsome does every face with-
out a beard seem in my eyes."
" And lo ! one of the handsomest in Pompeii, old
Diomed's daughter, the rich Julia ! " said Clodius, as
a young lady, her face covered by her veil, and at-
tended by two female slaves^ approached them, on her
way to the baths.
" Fair Julia, we salute thee I " said Clodius.
Julia partly raised her veil, so as with some coquetry
to display a bold Roman profile, a full dark bright eye,
and a cheek over whose natural olive art shed a fairer
and softer rose.
" And Glaucus, too, is returned ! " said she, glancing
meaningly at the Athenian. " Has he forgotten," she
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII ii
added, in a half-whisper, " his friends of the last
year ? "
" Beautiful Julia ! even Lethe itself, if it disappear in
one part of the earth, rises again in another. Jupiter
does not allow us ever to forget for more than a mo-
ment ; but Venus, more harsh still, vouchsafes not even
a moment's oblivion."
" Glaucus is never at a loss for fair words."
" Who is, when the object of them is so fair ? "
" We shall see you both at my father's villa soon,"
said Julia, turning to Clodius.
" We will mark the day in which we visit you with
a white stone," answered the gamester.
Julia dropped her veil, but slowly, so that her last
glance rested on the Athenian with affected timidity
and real boldness; the glance bespoke tenderness and
reproach.
The friends passed on.
Julia is certainly handsome," said Glaucus.
And last year you would have made that confes-
sion in a warmer tone."
" True ; I was dazzled at the first sight, and mistook
for a gem that which was but an artful imitation."
" Nay," returned Clodius, " all women are the same
at heart. Happy he who weds a handsome face and
a large dower. What more can he desire ? "
Glaucus sighed.
There were now in a street less crowded than the
rest, at the end of which they beheld that broad and
most lovely sea, which upon those delicious coasts
seems to have renounced its prerogative of terror, —
so soft are the crisping winds that hover around its
bosom, so glowing and so various are the hues which
it takes from the rosy clouds, so fragrant are the per-
it
12 THE LAST DAYS -OF POMPEtl
fumes which the breezes from the land scatter over its
depths. From such a sea might you well believe that
Aphrodite rose to take the empire of the earth.
" It is still early for the bath," said the Greek, who
was the creature of every poetical impulse ; " let us
wander from the crowded city, and look upon the sea
while the noon yet laughs along its billows."
" With all my heart," said Clodius ; " and the bay,
too, is always the most animated part of the city."
Pompeii was the miniature of the civilisation of that
age. Within the narrow compass of its walls was con-
tained, as it were, a specimen of every gift which lux-
ury offered to power. In its minute but glittering
shops, its tiny palaces, its baths, its forum, its theatre,
its circus — in the energy yet corruption, in the refine-
ment yet the vice, of its people, you beheld a model
of the whole empire. It was a toy, a plaything, a show-
box, in which the gods seemed pleased to keep the rep-
resentation of the great monarchy of earth, and which
they afterwards hid from time, to the wonder of pos-
terity;— the moral of the maxim, that under the sun
there is nothing new.
Crowded in the glassy bay were the vessels of com-
merce and the gilded galleys for the pleasure of the
rich citizens. The boats of the fishermen glided rapid-
ly to and fro; and afar off you saw the tall masts of
the fleet under the command of Pliny. Upon the shore
sat a Sicilian, who^ with vehement gestures and flexile
features, was narrating to a group of fishermen and
peasants a strange tale of shipwrecked mariners and
friendly dolphins : — just as at this day, in the modern
neighbourhood, you may hear upon the Mole of Na-
ples.
Drawing his comrade from the crowd, the Greek bent
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 13
his steps towards a solitary part of the beach, and the
two friends, seated on a small crag which rose amidst
the smooth pebbles, inhaled the voluptuous and cooling
breeze, which dancing over the waters, kept music with
its invisible feet. There was, perhaps, something in
the scene that invited them to silence and reverie.
Clodius, shading his eyes from the burning sky, was
calculating the gains of the last week ; and the Greek,
leaning upon his hands, and shrinking not from that
sun, — ^his nation's tutelary deity, — with whose fluent
light of poesy, and joy, and love, his own veins were
filled, gazed upon the broad expanse, and envied, per-
haps, every wind that bent its pinions ^towards the
shores of Greece.
" Tell me, Clodius," said the Greek at last, " hast
thou ever been in love ? "
Yes, very often."
He who has loved often," answered Glaucus, " has
loved never. There is but one Eros, though there are
many counterfeits of him."
" The counterfeits are not bad little gods, upon the
whole," answered Clodius.
" I agree with you," returned the Greek. " I adore
even the shadow of Love; but I adore himself yet
more."
" Art thou, then, soberly and earnestly in love ? Hast
thou that feeling which the poets describe — a feeling
that makes us neglect our suppers, forswear the the-
atre, and write elegies ? I should never have thought
it. You dissemble well."
" I am not far gone enough for that," returned
Glaucus, smiling, " or rather I say with Tibullus, —
* He whom Love rules, where'er his path may be,
Walks safe and sacred.'
14 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
In fact, I am not in love ; but I could be if there were
but occasion to see the object. Eros would light his
torch, but the priests have given him no oil/'
" Shall I guess the object ? — Is it not Diomed's
daughter ? She adores you, and does not affect to con-
ceal it; and, by Hercules, I say again and again, she
is both handsome and rich. She will bind the door-
posts of her husband with golden fillets."
" NO; I do not desire to sell myself. Diomed's
daughter is handsome, I grant: and at onp time, had
she not been the grandchild of a freedman, I might
have Yet no — she carries all her beauty in her
face; her manners are not maidenlike, and her mind
knows no culture save that of pleasure."
" You are ungrateful. Tell me, then, who is the
fortunate virgin ! "
" You shall hear, my Clodius. Several months ago
I was sojourning at Neapolis,^ a city utterly to my own
heart, for it still retains the manners and stamp ci its
Grecian origin, — and it yet merits the name of Parthe-
nope, from its delicious air and its beautiful shores.
One day I entered the temple of Minerva, to offer up
my prayers, not for myself more than for the city on
which Pallas smiles no longer. The temple was empty
and deserted. The recollections of Athens crowded
fast and meltingly upon me: imagining myself still
alone in the temple, and absorbed in the earnestness
of my devotion, my prayer gushed from my heart to
my lips, and I wept as I prayed. I was startled in the
midst of my devotions, however, by a deep sigh; I
turned suddenly round, and just behind me was a fe-
male. She had raised her veil also in prayer: and
when our eyes met, methought a celestial ray shot from
^ Naples.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 15
those dark and shining orbs at once into my soul.
Never, my Clodius, have I seen mortal face more ex-
quisitely moulded: a certain melancholy softened
and yet elevated its expression : that unutterable some-
thing which springs from the soul, and which our
sculptors have imparted to the aspect of Psyche, gave
her beauty I know not what of divine and noble : tears
were rolling down her eyes. I guessed at once that
she was also of Athenian lineage; and that in my
prayer for Athens her heart had responded to mine.
I spoke to her, though with a faltering voice — * Art
thou not, too, Athenian? ' said I, * O beautiful virgin ! '
At the sound of mv voice she blushed, and half drew
her veil across her face. ' My forefathers' ashes,' said
she, * repose by the waters of Ilissus : my birth is of
Neapolis; but my heart, as my lineage is Athenian.'
' Let us, then,' said I^ ' make our offerings together : '
and, as the priest now appeared, we stood side by side,
while we followed the priest in his ceremonial prayer ;
together we touched the knees of the goddess — to-
gether we laid our olive garlands on the altar. I felt
a strange emotion of almost sacred tenderness at this
companionship. We, strangers from a far and fallen
land, stood together and alone in that temple of our
country's deity : was it not natural that my heart should
yearn to my countrywoman, for so I might surely call
her ? I felt as if I had known her for years ; and that
simple rite seemed, as by a miracle, to operate on the
sympathies and ties of time. Silently we left the tem-
ple, and I was about to ask her where she dwelt, and
if I might be permitted to visit her, when a youth, in
whose features there was some kindred resemblance to
her own, and who stood upon the steps of the fane,
took hereby the hand. She turned round and bade me
i6 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
farewell. The crowd separated us : I saw her no more.
On reaching my home I found letters, which obliged
me to set out for Athens, for my relations threatened
me with litigation concerning my inheritance. When
that suit was happily over, I repaired once more to
Neapolis; I instituted inquiries throughout the whole
city, I could discover no clue of my lost countrywoman,
and, hoping to lose in gaiety all remembrance of that
beautiful apparition, I hastened to plunge myself
amidst the luxuries of Pompeii. This is all my history.
I. do not love; but I remember and regret."
As Clodius was about to reply, a slow and stately
step approached them, and at the sound it made
amongst the pebbles, each turned, and each recognised
the new-comer.
It was a man who had scarcely reached his fortieth
year, of tall stature, and of a thin but nervous and
sinewy frame. His skin, dark and bronzed, betrayed
his Eastern origin; and his features had something
Greek in their outline (especially in the chin, the lip,
and the brow), save that the nose was somewhat raised
and aquiline ; and the bones, hard and visible, forbade
that fleshy and waving contour which on the Grecian
physiognomy preserved even in manhood the round
and beautiful curves of youth. His eyes, large and
black as the deepest night, shone with no varying and
uncertain lustre. A deep, thoughtful, and half-melan-
choly calm seemed unalterably fixed in their majestic
and commanding gaze. His step and mien were pe-
culiarly sedate and lofty, and something foreign in the
fashion and the sober hues of his sweeping garments
added to the impressive effect of his quiet countenance
and stately form. Each of the young men, in saluting
the new-comer, made mechanically, and with care to
ft
tt
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 17
conceal it from him, a slight gesture or sign with their
fingers; for Arbaces, the Egyptian, was supposed to
possess the fatal gift of the evil eye.
" The scene must, indeed, be beautiful," said Ar-
baces, with a cold though courteous smile, " which
draws the gay Clodius, and Glaucus the all-admired,
from the crowded thoroughfares of the city."
" Is nature ordinarily so unattractive ? " asked the
Greek.
To the dissipated — ^yes."
An austere reply, but scarcely a wise one. Pleas-
ure delights in contrasts ; it is from dissipation that we
learn to enjoy solitude, and from solitude dissipation."
" So think the young philosophers of the Garden,"
replied the Egyptian ; " they mistake lassitude for medi-
tation, and imagine that, because they are sated with
others, they know the delight of loneliness. But not
in such jaded bosoms can Nature awaken that enthusi-
asm which alone draws from her chaste reserve all her
unspeakable beauty: she demands from you, not the
'exhaustion of passion, but all that fervour from which
you only seek, in adoring her, a release. When, young
Athenian, the moon revealed herself in visions of light
to Endymion, it was after a day passed, not amongst
the feverish haunts of men, but on the still mountains
and in the solitary valleys of the hunter."
" Beautiful simile ! " cried Glaucus ; " most unjust
application! Exhaustion! that word is for age, not
youth. By me, at least, one moment of satiety has
never been known ! "
Again the Egyptian smiled, but his smile was cold
and blighting, and even the unimaginative Clodius froze
beneath its light. He did not, however, reply to the
i8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
passionate exclamation of Glaiicus ; but, after a pause,
he said^ in a soft and melancholy voice, —
" After all, you do right to enjoy the hour while it
smiles for you; the rose soon withers, the perfume
soon exhales. And we, O Glaucus ! strangers in the
land, and far from our fathers' ashes, what is there left
for us but pleasure or regret ! — for you the first, per-
haps for me the last."
The bright eyes of the Greek were suddenly suffused
with tears. " Ah, speak not, Arbaces," he cried —
" speak not of our ancestors. Let us forget that there
were ever other liberties than those of Rome! And
Glory! — oh, vainly would we call her ghost from the
fields of Marathon and Thermopylae ! "
" Thy heart rebukes thee while thou speakest," said
the Egyptian ; " and in thy gaieties this night thou
wilt be more mindful of Lesena ^ than of Lais. Vale! "
Thus saying, he gathered his robe around him, and
slowly swept away.
" I breathe more freely," said Clodius. " Imitating
the Egyptians, we sometimes introduce a skeleton at
our feasts. In truths the presence of such an Egyptian
as yon gliding shadow were spectre enough to sour the
richest grape of the Falemian."
" Strange man ! " said Glaucus, musingly : " yet dead
though he seemed to pleasure, and cold to the objects
of the world, scandal belies him, or his house and his
heart could tell a different tale."
" Ah ! there are whispers of other orgies than those
of Osiris in his gloomy mansion. He is rich, too, they
1 Leaena, the heroic mistress of Aristogiton, when put to the
torture, bit out her tongue, that the pain might not induce her
to betray the conspiracy against the sons of Pisistratus. The
statue of a lioness, erected in her honour, was to be seen at
Athens in the time of Pausanias.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 19
say. Can we not get him amongst us, and teach him
the charms of dice ? Pleasure of pleasures ! hot fever
of hope and fear ! inexpressible, un jaded passion ! how
fiercely beautiful thou art, O Gaming ! "
" Inspired — inspired ! " cried Glaucus, laughing ;
"the oracle speaks poetry in Clodius. What miracle
next ! "
CHAPTER III
PARENTAGE OF GLAUCUS. — DESCRIPTION OF THE HOUSES
OF POMPEII. — A CLASSIC REVEL.
Heaven had given to Glaucus every blessing but one ;
it had given him beauty, health, fortune, genius, illus-
trious descent, a heart of fire, a mind of poetry; but
it had denied him the heritage of freedom. He was
bom in Athens, the subject of Rome. Succeeding
early to an ample inheritance, he had indulged that in-
clination for travel so natural to the young, and had
drunk deep of the intoxicating draught of pleasure
amidst the gorgeous luxuries of the imperial court.
He was an Alcibiades without ambition. He was
what a man of imagination, youth, fortune, and tal-
ents readily becomes when you deprive him of the in-
spiration of glory. His house at Rome was the theme
of the debauchees, but also of the lovers of art; and
the sculptors of Greece delighted to task their skill in
adorning the porticoes and exedrcB of an Athenian.
His retreat at Pompeii — alas! the colours are faded
now, the walls stripped of their paintings! — its main
beauty, its elaborate finish of grace and ornament, is
gone ; yet when first given once more to the day, what
eulogies, what wonder, did its minute and glowing
1
I
20 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
decorations create — its paintings — its mosaics! Pas-
sionately enamoured of poetry and the drama, which
recalled to Glaucus the wit and the heroism of his
race, that fairy mansion was adorned with representa-
tions of ^schylus and Homer. And antiquaries, who
resolve taste to a trade, have turned the patron to the
professor, and still (though the error is now acknowl-
edged) they style in custom, as they first named in
mistake, the disburied house of the Athenian Glaucus
" THE HOUSE OF THE DRAMATIC POET."
Previous to our description of this house, it may be
as well to convey to the reader a general notion of the
houses of Pompeii, which he will find to resemble
strongly the plans of Vitruvius ; but with all those dif-
ferences in detail, of caprice and taste, which being nat-
ural to mankind, have always puzzled antiquaries. We
shall endeavour to make this description as clear and
unpedantic as possible.
You enter, then, usually by a small entrance-passage
(called vestibulum), into a hall, sometimes with (but
more frequently without) the ornament of columns;
around three sides of this hall are doors communicat-
ing with several bed-chambers (among which is the
porter's), the best of these being usually appropriated
to country visitors. At the extremity of the hall, on
either side, to the right and left, if the house is large,
there are two small recesses, rather than chambers, gen-
erally devoted to the ladies of the mansion ; and in the
centre of the tesselated pavement of the hall is invari-
ably a square, shallow reservoir for rain water (classi-
cally termed impluvium), which was admitted by an
aperture in the roof above ; the said aperture being cov-
ered at will by an awning. Near this impluvium,
which had a peculiar sanctity in the eyes of the an-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 2i
cients, were sometimes (but at Pompeii more rarely
than at Rome) placed images of the household gods;
— the hospitable hearth, often mentioned by the Roman
poets, and consecrated to the Lares, was at Pompeii
almost invariably formed by a movable brasier; while
in some corner, often the most ostentatious place, was
deposited a huge wooden chest, ornamented and
strengthened by bands of bronze or iron, and secured
by strong hooks upon a stone pedestal so firmly as to
defy the attempts of any robber to detach it from its
position. It is supposed that this chest was the money
box, or coffer, of the master of the house ; though as
no money has been found in any of the chests discov-
ered at Pompeii, it is probable that it was sometimes
rather designed for ornament than use.
In this hall (or atrium, to speak classically), the cli-
ents and visitors of inferior rank were usually received.
In the houses of the more " respectable," an atriensis,
or slave peculiarly devoted to the service of the hall,
was invariably retained, and his rank among his fel-
low-slaves was high and important. The reservoir in
the centre must have been rather a dangerous orna-
ment, but the centre of the hall was like the grass-plot
of a college, and interdicted to the passers to and fro,
who found ample space in the margin. Right opposite
the entrance, at the other end of the hall, was an apart-
ment (tablinum), in which the pavement was usually
adorned with rich mosaics^ and the walls covered with
elaborate paintings. Here were usually kept the rec-
ords of the family, or those of any public office that
had been filled by the owner: on one side of this saloon,
if we may so call it, was often a dining-room, or tri-
clinium; on the other side, perhaps, what we should
now term a cabinet of gems, containing whatever curi-
22 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
osities were deemed most rare and costly ; and invari-
ably a small passage for the slaves to cross to the fur-
ther parts of the house, without passing the apartments
thus mentionecf. These rooms all opened on a square
or oblong colonnade, technically termed peristyle. If
the house was small, its boundary ceased with this
colonnade ; and in that case its centre, however dimin-
utive, was ordinarily appropriated to the purpose of a
garden, and adorned with vases of flowers, placed upon
pedestals : while, under the colonnade, to the right and
left, were doors admitting to bedrooms,^ to a second
triclinium, or eating-room (for the ancients generally
appropriated two rooms at least to that purpose, one
for summer, and one for winter — or, perhaps, one for
ordinary, the other for festive, occasions) ; and if the
owner affected letters, a cabinet, dignified by the name
of library — for a very small room was sufficient to con-
tain the few rolls of papyrus which the ancients
deemed a notable collection of books.
At the end of the peristyle was generally the kitchen.
Supposing the house was large, it did not end with
the peristyle, and the centre thereof was not in that
case a garden, but might be perhaps, adorned with a
^ fountain, or basin for fish ; and at its end, exactly op-
posite to the tablinum, was generally another eating-
room, on either side of which were bedrooms, and per-
haps a picture-saloon, or pinacotheca^ These apart-
ments communicated again with a square or oblong
space, usually adorned on three sides with a colon-
nade like the peristyle, and very much resembling the
peristyle, only usually longer. This was the proper
1 The Romans had bedrooms appropriated not only to the
sleep of night, but also to the day siesta (cubicula diurna).
* In the stately palaces of Rome, this picture-room generally
communicated with the atrium.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 23
vividarium, or garden, being commonly adorned with
a fountain, or statues, and a profusion of gay flowers :
at its extreme end was the gardener's house ; on either
side, beneath the colonnade, were sometimes, if the
size of the family required it, additional rooms.
At Pompeii, a second or third story was rarely of
importance, being built only above a small part of the
house, and containing rooms for the slaves; differing
in this respect from the more magnificent edifices of
Rome, which generally contained the principal eating-
room (or ccenaculum) on the second floor. The apart-
ments themselves were ordinarily of small size ; for in
those delightful climes they received any extraordi-
nary number of visitors in the peristyle (or portico),
the hall, or the garden ; and even their banquetyrooms,
however elaborately adorned and carefully selected m
point of aspect, were of diminutive proportions; for
the intellectual ancients, being fond of society, not of
crowds, rarely feasted more than nine at a time, so
that large dinner-rooms were not so necessary with
them as with us.^ But the suite of rooms seen at once
from the entrance, must have had a very imposing ef-
fect: you beheld at once the hall richly paved and
painted — the tablinum — the graceful peristyle and (if
the house extended farther), the opposite banquet-room
and the garden, which closed the view with some gusri-
ing fount or marble statue.
The reader will now have a tolerable notion of the
Pompeian houses, which resembled in some respects
the Grecian, but mostly the Roman fashion of domes-
tic architecture. In almost every house there is some
difference in detail from the rest, but the principal out-
' When they entertained very large parties, the feast was
usually served in the hall.
24 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
line is the same in all. In all you find the hall, the
tablinum, and the peristyle, communicating with each
other, in all you find the walls richly painted ; and in
all the evidence of a people fond of the refining ele-
gances of life. The purity of the taste of the Pom-
peians in decoration is, however, questionable: they
were fond of the gaudiest colours, of fantastic designs ;
they often painted the lower half of their columns a
bright red, leaving the rest uncoloured ; and where the
garden was small, its wall was frequently tinted to de-
ceive the eye as to its extent, imitating trees, birds,
temples, &c., in perspective — a meretricious delusion
which the graceful pedantry of Pliny himself adopted,
with a complacent pride in its ingenuity.
But the house of Glaucus was at once one of the
smallest, and yet one of the most adorned and finished
of all the private mansions of Pompeii: it would be
a model at this day for the house of " a single man in
Mayfair " — the envy and despair of the coelibian pur-
chasers of bi^lil and marquetry.
You enter by a long and narrow vestibule, on the
floor of which is the image of a dog in mosaic, with
the well-known " Cave canem," — or " Beware the
dog." On either side is a chamber of some size ; for
the interior part of the house not being large enough
to contain the two great divisions of private and pub-
lic apartments, these two rooms were set apart for the
reception of visitors who neither by rank nor familiar-
ity were entitled to admission into the penetralia of the
mansion.
Advancing up the vestibule you enter an atrium, that
when first discovered was rich in paintings, which in
point of expression would scarcely disgrace a Rafaele.
You may see them now transplanted to the Neapolitan
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 25
Museum ; they are still the admiration of connoisseurs
— ^they depict the parting of Achilles and Briseis,
Who does not acknowledge the force, the vigour, the
beauty employed in delineating the forms and faces of
Achilles and the immortal slave!
On one side the atrium^ a small staircase admitted
to the apartments for the slaves on the second floor;
there also were two or three small bedrooms, the walls
of which portrayed the rape of Europa, the battle of
the Amazons, &c.
You now enter the tablinum, across which, at either
end, hung rich draperies of Tyrian purple, half with-
drawn.^ On the walls was depicted a poet reading his
verses to his friends ; and in the pavement was inserted
a small and most exquisite mosaic, typical of the in-
structions given by the director of the stage to his
comedians.
You passed through this saloon and entered the
peristyle; and here (as I have said before was usually
the case with the smaller houses of Pompeii) the man-
sion ended. From each of the seven columns that
adorned this court hung festoons of garlands ; the cen-
tre, supplying the place of a garden, bloomed with the
rarest flowers placed in vases of white marble, that
were supported on pedestals. At the left hand of this
small garden was a diminutive fane, resembling one of
those small chapels placed at the side of roads in
Catholic countries, and dedicated to the Penates ; be-
fore it stood a bronze tripod : to the left of the colon-
nade were two small cubicula, or bedrooms; to the
right was the triclinium, in which the guests were now
assembled.
This room is usually termed by the antiquaries of
* The tablinum was also secured at pleasure by sliding-doors.
26 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Naples " The Chamber of Leda ; " and in the beautiful
work of Sir William Gell^ the reader will find an en-
graving from that most delicate and graceful painting
of Leda presenting her new-born to her husband, from
which the room derives its name. This charming
apartment opened upon the fragrant garden. Round
the table of citrean ^ wood, highly polished and deli-
cately wrought with silver arabesques, were placed the
three couches, which were yet more common at Pom-
peii than the semicircular seat that had grown lately
into fashion at Rome : and on these couches of bronze,
studded with richer metals^ were laid thick quiltings
covered with elaborate broidery, and yielding luxuri-
ously to the pressure.
" Well, I must own," said the aedile Pansa, " that
your house, though scarcely larger than a case for one's
fibulae, is a gem of its kind. How beautifully painted
is that parting of Achilles and Briseis ! — what a style!
— what heads ! — what a — ^hem ! "
" Praise from Pansa is indeed valuable on such sub-
jects," said Clodius, gravely. " Why, the paintings on
his walls! — Ah, there is^ indeed, the hand of a
Zeuxis ! "
" You flatter me, my Clodius ! indexed you do ; "
quoth the aedile, who was celebrated through Pompeii
for having the worst paintings in the World; for he
was patriotic, and patronised none but Pompeians.
" You flatter me ; but there is something pretty —
iEdepol^ yes — in the colours, to say nothing of the de-
sign ; — and then for the kitchen, my friends — ah ! that
was all my fancy."
* The most valued wood — not the modern citron-tree. My
learned friend, Mr. W. S. Landor, conjectures it with much
plausibility to have been mahogany.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 2^
" What is the design ? " said Glaucus. " I have not
yet seen your kitchen, though I have often witnessed
the excellence of its cheer." •
" A cook, my Athenian — ^a cook sacrificing the
trophies of his skill on the altar of Vesta, with a beauti-
ful muraena (taken from the life) on a spit at a dis-
tance ; — there is some invention there ! "
At that instant the slaves appeared, bearing a tray
covered with the first preparative initia of the feast.
Amidst delicious figs, fresh herbs strewed with snow,
anchovies, and eggs, were ranged small cups of diluted
wine sparingly mixed with honey. As these were
placed on the table, young slaves bore round to each
of the five guests (for there were no more) the silver
basin of perfumed water, and napkins edged with a
purple fringe. But the aedile ostentatiously drew
forth his own napkin, which v/as not, indeed, of so
fine a linen, but in which the fringe was twice as broad,
and wiped his hands with the parade of a man who
felt he was calling for admiration.
" A splendid mappa that of yours," said Clodius ;
" why, the fringe is as broad as a girdle ! "
" A trifle, my Clodius : a trifle ! They tell me this
stripe is the latest fashion at Rome; but Glaucus at-
tends to these things more than I."
" Be propitious, O Bacchus ! " said Glaucus, inclin-
ing reverentially to a beautiful image of the god placed
in the centre of the table, at the corners of which stood
the Lares and the salt-holders. The guests followed
the prayer, and then, sprinkling the wine on the table,
they performed the wonted libation.
This over, the convivialists reclined themselves on
the couches, and the business of the hour commenced.
" May this cup be my last ! " said the young Sallust,
28 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
as the table, cleared of its first stimulants, was now
loaded with the substantial part of the entertainment,
and the ministering slave poured forth to him a brim-
ming cyathus — " May this cup be my last, but it is the
best wine I have drunk at Pompeii ! "
" Bring hither the amphora/' said Glaucus, " and
read its date and its character."
The slave hastened to inform the party that the
scroll fastened to the cork betokened its birth from
Chios, and its age a ripe fifty years.
" How deliciously the snow has cooled it ! " said
Pansa. " It is just enough."
"It is like the experience of a man who has cooled
his pleasures sufficiently to give them a double zest,"
exclaimed Sallust.
" It is like a woman's ' No,' " added Glaucus : " it
cools but to inflame the more."
" When is our next wild-beast fight ? " said Clodius
to Pansa.
" It stands fixed for the ninth ide of August," an-
swered Pansa : " on the day after the Vulcanalia ; — we
have a most lovely young lion for the occasion."
" Whom shall we get for him to eat ? " asked Clo-
dius. " Alas ! there is a great scarcity of criminals.
You must positively find some innocent or other to
condemn to the lion, Pansa ! "
" Indeed I have thought very seriously about it of
late," replied the aedile, gravely. " It was a most in-
famous law that which forbade us to send our own
slaves to. the wild beasts. Not to let us do what we
like with our own, that's what I call an infringement
on property itself."
" Not so in the good old days of the Republic,"
sighed Sallust
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 29
" And then this pretended mercy to the slaves is such
a disappointment to the poor people. How they do
love to see a good tough battle between a man and a
lion; and all this innocent pleasure they may lose (if
the gods don't send us a good criminal soon) from this
cursed law ! "
" What can be worse policy/' said Clodius, senten-
tiously, " than to interfere with the manly amusements
of the people ? "
" Well, thank Jupiter and the Fates ! we have no
Nero at present," said Sallust.
" He was, indeed, a tyrant ; he shut up our amphi-
theatre for ten years."
" I wonder it did not create a rebellion," said Sal-
lust.
" It very nearly did," returned Pansa, with his mouth
full of wild boar.
Here the conversation was interrupted for a mo-
ment by a flourish of flutes, and two slaves entered
with a single dish.
" Ah, what delicacy hast thou in store for us now,
my Glaucus ? " cried the young Sallust, with sparkling
eyes.
Sallust was only twenty-four, but he had no pleas-
ure in life like eating — perhaps he had exhausted all
the others: yet had he some talent, and an excellent
heart — as far as it went.
" I know its face, by Pollux ! " cried Pansa. " It is
an Ambracian kid! Ho! [snapping his fingers, a
usual signal to the slaves] we must prepare a new liba-
tion in honour to the new comer."
" I had hoped," said Glaucus, in a melancholy tone,
" to have procured you some oysters from Britain ; but
the winds that were so cruel to Caesar have forbid us
the oysters."
30 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
"Are they in truth so delicious?" asked Lepidus,
loosening to a yet more luxurious ease his ungirdled
tunic.
" Why, in truth, I suspect it is the distance that gives
the flavour ; they want the richness of the Brundusium
oyster. But, at Rome, n6 supper is complete without
them."
" The poor Britons ! There is some good in them
after all/' said Sallust. " They produce an oyster."
" I wish they would produce us a gladiator," said
the aedile, whose provident mind was musing over the
wants of the amphitheatre.
" By Pallas ! " cried Glaucus, as his favourite slave
crowned his streaming locks with a new chaplet, " I
love these wild spectacles well enough when beast
fights beast; but when a man, one with bones and
blood like ours, is coldly put on the arena, and torn
limb from limb, the interest is too horrid: I sicken —
I gasp for breath — I long to rush and defend him.
The yells of the populace seem to me more dire than
the voices of the Furies chasing Orestes. I rejoice that
there is so little chance of that bloody exhibition for
our next show ! "
The aedile shrugged his shoulders. The young Sal-
lust, who was thought the best-natured man in Pom-
peii, stared in surprise. The graceful Lepidus, who
rarely spoke for fear of disturbing his features, ejacu-
lated " Hercle ! " The parasite Clodius muttered*
" iEdepol ! " and the sixth banqueter, who was the
umbra of Clodius,^ and whose duty it was to echo his
richer friend, when he could not praise him, — ^the para-
site of a parasite, — muttered also " ^Edepol ! "
" Well, you Italians are used to these spectacles ; we
1 See note (b) at the end.
tt
((
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 31
Greeks are more merciful. Ah, shade of Pindar I —
the rapture of a true Grecian game — ^the emulation of
man against man — ^the generous strife — ^the half-
mournful triumph — so proud to contend with a noble
foe, so sad to see him overcome ! But ye understand
me not."
" The kid is excellent/' said Sallust. The slave,
whose duty it was to carve, and who valued himself
on his science, had just performed that office on the
kid to the sound of music, his knife keeping time, be-
ginning with a low tenor, and accomplishing the ardu-
ous feat amidst a magnificent diapason.
Your cook is, of course, from Sicily ? " said Pansa.
Yes, of Syracuse."
" I will play for him," said Clodius. " We will have
a game between the courses."
" Better that sort of game, certainly, than a beast
fight ; but I cannot stake my Sicilian — ^you have noth-
ing so precious to stake me in return."
" My Phillida — my beautiful dancing girl ! "
" I never buy women," said the Greek, carelessly re-
arranging, his chaplet.
The musicians, who were stationed in the portico
without, had commenced their office with the kid ; they
now directed the melody into a more soft, a more gay,
yet it may be a more intellectual strain; and they
chanted that song of Horace beginning " Persicos odi,"
&c., so impossible to translate, and which they imag-
ined applicable to a feast that, eflFeminate as it seems
to us, was simple enough for the gorgeous revelry of
the time. We are witnessing the domestic, and not
the princely feast — ^the entertainment of a gentleman,
not an emperor or a senator.
" Ah, good old Horace ! " said Sallust, compassion-
n
32 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
ately ; " he sang well of feasts and girls, but not like
our modern poets."
The immortal Fulvius, for instance," said Clodius.
Ah, Fulvius, the immortal ! " said the umbra.
And Spuraena ; and Caius Mutius, who wrote three
epics in a year — could Horace do that, or Virgil
either? " said Lepidus. " Those old poets all fell into
the mistake of copying sculpture instead of painting.
Simplicity and repose — that was their notion ; but we
modems have fire^ and passion, and energy — ^we never
sleep, we imitate the colours of painting, its life, and
its action. Immortal Fulvius ! "
" By the way," said Sallust, " have you seen the new
ode by Spuraena, in honour of our Egyptian Isis ? It
is magnificent — ^the true religious fervour."
" Isis seems a favourite divinity at Pompeii," said
Glaucus.
" Yes ! " said Pansa, " she is exceedingly in repute
just at this moment ; her statue has been uttering the
most remarkable oracles. I am not superstitious, but
I must confess that she has more than once assisted
me materially in my magistracy with her advice. Her
priests are so pious, too! none of your gay, none of
your proud, ministers of Jupiter and Fortune: they
walk barefoot, eat no meat, and pass the greater part
of the night in solitary devotion ! "
" An example to our other priesthoods indeed ! —
Jupiter's temple wants reforming sadly," said Lepidus,
who was a great reformer for all but himself.
" They say that Arbaces the Egyptian has imparted
some most solemn mysteries to the priests of Isis,"
observed Sallust. " He boasts his descent from the
race of Rameses, and declares that in his family the
secrets of remotest antiquity are treasured,"
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 33
" He certainly possesses the gift of the evil eye,"
said Clodius. " If I ever come upon that Medusa front
without the previous charm, I am sure to lose a fa-
vourite horse, or throw the canes^ nine times running."
" The last would indeed be a miracle ! " said Sallust,
gravely.
" How mean you, Sallust ? " returned the gamester,
with a flushed brow.
" I mean what you would leave me if I played often
with you ; and that is — ^nothing."
Clodius answered only by a smile of disdain.
" If Arbaces were not so rich," said Pansa, with a
stately air, " I should stretch my authority a little, and
inquire into the truth of the report which calls him an
astrologer and a sorcerer. Agrippa, when aedile of
Rome, banished all such terrible citizens. But a rich
man — it is the duty of an aedile to protect the rich ! "
" What think you of this new sect, which I am told
has even a few proselytes in Pompeii, these followers
of the Hebrew God — Christus ? "
Oh, mere speculative visionaries," said Clodius;
they have not a single gentleman amongst them;
their prosel)^es are poor, insignificant, ignorant peo-
ple ! "
" Who ought, however, to be crucified for their
blasphemy," said Pansa, with vehemence ; " they deny
Venus and Jove! Nazarene is but another name for
atheist. Let me catch them, that's all."
The second course was gone — the feasters fell back
on their couches — ^there was a pause while they listened
to the soft voices of the South, and the music of the
Arcadian reed. Glaucus was the most rapt and the
* Canes, or Canicula, the lowest throw at dice.
3
34 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
least inclined to break the silence, but Clodius began
already to think that they wasted time.
"Bene vobis! (your health!) my Glaucus," said he,
quaffing a cup to each letter of the Greek's name, with
the ease of a practised drinker. " Will you not be
avenged on your, ill-fortune of yesterday? See, the
dice court us."
" As you will," said Glaucus.
" The dice in summer, and I an aedile ! " ^ said Pansa,
magisterially ; " it is against all law."
" Not in your presence, grave Pansa," returned Clo-
dius, rattling the dice in a long box ; " your presence
restrains all license ; it is not the thing, but the excess
of the thing, that hurts."
What wisdom ! " muttered the umbra.
Well, I will look another way," said the aedile.
" Not yet, good Pansa ; let us wait till we have
supped," said Glaucus.
Clodius reluctantly yielded, concealing his vexation
with a yawn.
" He gapes to devour the gold," whispered Lepidus
to Sallust, in a quotation from the Aiilularia of Plautus.
" Ah ! how well I know these polypi, who hold all
they touch," answered ^Sallust, in the same tone and
out of the same play.
The third course, consisting of a variety of fruits,
pistachio nuts, sweetmeats, tarts, and confectionery
tortured into a thousand fantastic and airy shapes, was
now placed upon the table: and the ministri, or at-
tendants, also set there the wine (which had hitherto
been handed round to the guests) in large jugs of
glass, each bearing upon it the schedule of its age and
quality.
^ See note {c) at the end.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 35
" Taste this Lesbian, my Pansa," said Sallust ; " it
is excellent."
" It is not very old/' said Glaucus, " but it has been
made precocious, like ourselves, by being put to the
fire: — the wine to the flames of Vulcan — we to those
of his wife — to whose honour I pour this cup/'
" It is delicate," said Pansa, " but there is perhaps
the least particle too much of rosin in its flavour."
" What a beautiful cup ! " cried Clodius, taking up
one of transparent crystal, the handles of which were
wrought with gems, and twisted in the shape of ser-
pents, the favourite fashion at Pompeii.
" This ring," said Glaucus, taking a costly jewel
from the first joint of his finger and hanging it on the
handle, " gives it a richer show, and renders it less
unworthy of thy acceptance, my Clodius, on whom
may the gods bestow health and fortune, long and oft,
to crown it to the brim ! "
" You are too generous, Glaucus," said the game-
ster, handing the cup to his slave; "but your love
gives it a double value."
" This cup to the Graces ! " said Pansa, and he thrice
emptied his calix. The guests followed his example.
" We have appointed no director to the feast," cried
Sallust.
" Let us throw for him, then," said Clodius, rattling
the dice-box.
" Nay," cried Glaucus, " no cold and trite director
for us: no dictator of the banquet; no rex convivii.
Have not the Romans sworn never to obey a king?
Shall we be less free than your ancestors ? Ho ! mu-
sicians, let us have the song I composed the other night ;
it has a verse on this subject, ' The Bacchic Hymn of
the Hours.' "
36 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The musicians struck their instruments to a wild
Ionic air, whilst the youngest voices in the band chant-
ed forth, in Greek words, as numbers, the following
strain : —
THE EVENING HYMN OF THE HOURS
I.
" Through the summer day, through the weary day,
We have glided long;
Ere we speed to the Night through her portals gray,
Hail us with song! —
With song, with song,
With a bright and joyous song;
Such as the Cretan maid.
While the twilight made her bolder,
Woke, high through the ivy shade.
When the wine-god first consoled her.
From the hush'd, low-breathing skies.
Half-shut look'd their starry eyes,
And all around,
With a loving sound,
The MgesLTi waves were creeping:
On her lap lay the lynx's head;
Wild thyme was her bridal bed;
And aye through each tiny space,
In the green vine's green embrace.
The Fauns were slily peeping; —
The Fauns, the prying Fauns —
The arch, the laughing Fauns —
The Fauns were slily peeping!
II.
Flagging and faint are we
With our ceaseless flight.
And dull shall our journey be
Through the realm of night.
Bathe us, O bathe our weary wings,
In the purple wave, as it freshly springs
To your cups from the fount of light —
From the fount of light — from the fount of light;
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 37
For there, when the sun has gone down in night,
There in the bowl we find him.
The grape is the well of that summer sun,
Or rather the stream, that he gazed upon,
Till he left in truth, like the Thespian youth,*
His soul, as he gazed, behind him.
III.
A cup to Jove, and a cup to Love,
And a cup to the son of Maia;
And honour with three, the band-zone free,
The band of the bright Aglaia.
But since every bud in the wreath of pleasure
Ye owe to the sister Hours,
No stinted cups, in a formal measure,
The Bromian law makes ours.
He honours us most who gives us most,
And boasts, with a Bacchanal's honest boast,
He never will count the treasure.
Fastly we fleet, then seize our wings.
And plunge us deep in the sparkling springs;
And aye, as we rise with a dripping plume,
We'll scatter the spray round the garland's bloom.
We glow — we glow.
Behold, as the girls of the Eastern wave
Bore once with a shout to their crystal cave
The prize of the Mysian Hylas,
Even so— even so,
We have caught the young god in our warm embrace,
We hurry him on in our laughing race;
We hurry him on, with a whoop and song.
The cloudy rivers of night along —
Ho, ho ! — we have caught thee, Psilas ! "
The guests applauded loudly. When the poet is
your host, his verses are sure to charm.
"Thoroughly Greek," said Lepidus: "the wildness,
force and energy of that tongue it is impossible to
imitate in the Roman poetry."
1 Narcissus.
38 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" It is, indeed, a great contrast," said Clodius, ironi-
cally at heart, though not in appearance, " to the old-
fashioned and tame simplicity of that ode of Horace
which we heard before.- The air is beautifully Ionic:
the word puts me in mind of a toast — Companions, I
give you the beautiful lone/'
" lone ! — ^the name is Greek," said Glaucus, in a soft
voice. " I drink the health with delight. But who is
lone?"
" Ah ! you have but just come to Pompeii, or you
would deserve ostracism for your ignorance," said
Lepidus, conceitedly : " not to know lone, is not to
know the chief charm of our city."
" She is of the most rare beauty," said Pansa ; " and
what a voice ! "
" She can feed only on nightingales' tongues," said
Clodius.
" Nightingales' tongues ! — beautiful thought ! "
sighed the umbra.
" Enlighten me, I beseech you," said Glaucus.
" Know then " began Lepidus.
" Let me speak," cried Clodius ; " you drawl out
your words as if you spoke tortoises."
" And you speak stones," muttered the coxcomb to
himself, as he fell back disdainfully on his couch.
" Know then, my Glaucus," said Clodius, " that lone
is a stranger who has but lately come to Pompeii. She
sings like Sappho, and her songs are her own com-
posing; and as for the tibia, and the cithara, and the
lyre, I know not in which she most outdoes the Muses.
Her beauty is most dazzling. Her house is perfect;
such taste — such gems — such bronzes! She is rich,
and generous as she is rich."
" Her lovers, of course," said Glaucus, " take care
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 39
that she does not starve ; and money lightly won is al-
ways lavishly spent."
" Her lovers — ah, there is the enigma ! lone has
but one vice — ^she is chaste. She has all Pompeii at
her feet, and she has no lovers: she will not even
marry."
" No lovers ! " echoed Glaucus.
" No ; she has the soul of Vesta, with the girdle of
Venus."
" What refined expressions ! " said the umbra.
" A miracle ! " cried Glaucus. " Can we not see
her?"
" I will take you there this evening," said Clodius ;
"meanwhile ," added he^ once more rattling the
dice.
" I am yours ! " said the complaisant Glaucus.
" Pansa, turn your face ! "
Lepidus and Sallust played at odd and even, and the
umbra looked on, while Glaucus and Clodius became
gradually absorbed in the chances of the dice.
" By Pollux ! " cried Glaucus, " this is the second
time I have thrown the caniculae " (the lowest throw).
" Now Venus befriend me ! " said Clodius, rattling
the box for several moments. " O Alma Venus — it
is Venus herself ! " as he threw the highest cast, named
from that goddess, — whom he who wins money, in-
deed, usually propitiates!
Venus is ungrateful to me/' said Glaucus, gaily;
I have always sacrificed on her altar."
" He who plays with Clodius," whispered Lepidus,
" will soon, like Plautus's Curculio, put his pallium for
the stakes."
" Poor Glaucus ! — ^he is as blind as Fortune herself,"
replied Sallust, in the same tone.
«
40 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" I will play no more," said Glaucus ; " I have 1
thirty sestertia."
" I am sorry /' began Clodius.
" Amiable man ! " groaned the umbra.
" Not at all ! " exclaimed Glaucus ; " the pleasuri
take in your gain compensates the pain of my loss
The conversation now grew general and animate
the wine circulated more freely; and lone once m(
became the subject of eulogy to the guests of Glauc
" Instead of outwatching the stars, let us visit c
at whose beauty the stars grow pale," said Lepidus
Clodius^ who saw no chance of renewing the di
seconded the proposal; and Glaucus, though he civi
pressed his guests to continue the banquet, could r
but let them see that his curiosity had been excited
the praises of lone : they therefore resolved to adjou
(all at least, but Pansa and the umbra) to the hou
of the fair Greek. They drank, therefore, to t
health of Glaucus and of Titus — they performed the
last libation — they resumed their slippers — ^they d
scended the stairs — passed the illumined atrium — ai
walking unbitten over the fierce dog painted on t!
threshold, found themselves beneath the light of tl
moon just risen, in the lively and still crowded stree
of Pompeii.
They passed the jewellers' quarters, sparkling wii
lights, caught and reflected by the gems displayed
the shops, and arrived at last at the door of lone. Tl
vestibule blazed with rows of lamps; curtains of en
broidered purple hung on either aperture of the tabl
num, whose walls and mosaic pavement glowed wit
the richest colours of the artist ; and under the portic
which surrounded the odorous viridarium they fotin
lone, already surrounded by adoring and applaudin
guests !
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 41
" Did you say she was Athenian ? " whispered
Glaucus, ere he passed into the peristyle.
** No, she is from Neapolis."
" NeapoHs ! " echoed Glaucus ; and at that moment
the group dividing on either side of lone, gave to his
view that bright, that nymph-like beauty, which for
months had shone down upon the waters of his
memory.
CHAPTER IV
THE TEMPLE OF ISIS. — ITS PRIEST. — ^THE CHARACTER
OF ARBACES DEVELOPS ITSELF.
The Story returns to the Egyptian. We left Ar-
baces upon the shores of the noonday sea, after he had
parted from Glaucus and his companion. As he ap-
proached to the more crowded part of the bay, he
paused and gazed upon that animated scene with fold-
ed arms, and a bitter smile upon his dark features.
" Gulls, dupes, fools, that ye are ! " muttered he to
himself ; " whether business or pleasure, trade or re-
ligion, be your pursuit, you are equally cheated by the
passions that ye should rule! How I could loathe
you, if I did not hate — ^yes, hate! Greek or Roman,
it is from us, from the dark lore of Egypt, that ye
have stolen the fire that gives you souls. Your
knowledge — your poesy — your laws — ^}'our arts — your
barbarous mastery of war (all how tame and mutilated
when compared with the vast original!) — ye have
filched, as a slave filches the fragments of the feast,
from us ! And now, ye mimics of a mimic ! — Romans,
forsooth! the mushroom herd of robbers! ye are our
masters! The pyramids look down no more on the
42 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
race of Rameses — the eagle cowers over the serpet
of the Nile. Our masters — not mine. My soul, t
the power of its wisdom, controls and chains yo\
though the fetters are unseen. So long as craft ca
master f prce, so long as religion has a cave from whic
oracles can dupe mankind, the wise hold an empit
over earth. Even from your vices Arbaces distils h
pleasures; — pleasures unprofaned by vulgar eyes-
pleasures vast, wealthy, inexhaustible, of which yon
enervate minds, in their unimaginative sensuality, car
not conceive or dream! Plod on, plod on, fools c
ambition and of avarice ! your pretty thirst for fasct
and quaestorships, and all the mummery of servil
power, provokes my laughter and my scorn. M
power can extend wherever man believes. I ride ove
the souls that the purple veils. Thebes may fal
Egypt be a name; the world itself furnishes the sut
jects of Arbaces."
Thus saying, the Egyptian moved slowly on; anc
entering the town, his tall figure towered above th
crowded throng of the forum, and swept towards th
small but graceful temple consecrated to Isis^^
That edifice was then but of recent erection; th
ancient temple had been thrown down in the earth
quake sixteen years before, and the new building lia<
become as much in vogue with the versatile Pompeian
as a new church or a new preacher may be with us
The oracles of the goddess at Pompeii were indeed re
markable, not more for the mysterious language ii
which they were clothed, than for the credit which wa
attached to their mandates and predictions. If the;
were not dictated by a divinity, they were framed a
least by a profound knowledge of mankind; they ap
1 See note (d) at the end.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 43
plied themselves exactly to the circumstances of indi-
viduals, and made a notable contrast to the vague and
loose generalities of their rival temples. As Arbaces
now arrived at the rails which separated the profane
from the sacred place, a crowd, composed of all classes,
but especially of the commercial, collected, breathless
and reverential, before the many altars which rose in
the open court. In the walls of the cella, elevated on
seven steps of Parian marble, various statues stood in
niches, and those walls were ornamented with the
pomegranate consecrated to Isis. An oblong pedestal
occupied the interior building, on which stood two
statues, one of Isis, and its companion represented the
silent and mystic Orus. But the building contained
many other deities to grace the court of the Egyptian
deity: her kindred and many-titled Bacchus, and the
Cyprian Venus, a Grecian disguise for herself, rising
from her bath, and the dog-headed Anubis, and the
ox Apis, and various Egyptian idols of uncouth form
and unknown appellations.
But we must not suppose that, among the cities of
Magna Graecia, Isis was worshipped with those forms
and ceremonies which were of right her own. The
mongrel and modem nations of the South, with a min-
gled arrogance and ignorance, confounded the wor-
ships of all climes and ages. And the profound mys-
teries of the Nile were degraded by a hundred
meretricious and frivolous admixtures from the creeds
of Cephisus and of Tiber. The temple of Isis in Pom-
peii was served by Roman and Greek priests, ignorant
alike of the language and the customs of her ancient
votaries; and the descendant of the dread Egyptian
kings, beneath the appearance of reverential awe, se-
cretly laughed to scorn the puny mummeries which
44 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
imitated the solemn and typical worship of his bumi
clime.
Ranged now on either side the steps was the sac
ficial crowd, arrayed in white garments, while at t
summit stood two of the inferior priests, the one hoi
ing a palm-branch, the other a slender sheaf of coi
In the narrow passage in front thronged the t
standers.
" And what/' whispered Arbaces to one of the b
standers, who was a merchant engaged in the Alexa
drian trade, which trade had probably first introduc
into Pompeii the worship of the Egyptian goddess-
" what occasion now assembles you before the alta
of the venerable Isis? It seems^ by the white rob
of the group before me, that a sacrifice is to be rei
dered ; and by the assembly of the priests, that ye a
prepared for some oracle. To what question is it
vouchsafe a reply?"
" We are merchants," replied the bystander (wl
was no other than Diomed) in the same voice, " wl:
seek to know the fate of our vessels, which sail f(
Alexandria to-morrow. We are' about to offer up
sacrifice and implore an answer from the goddess,
am not one of those who have petitioned the priest t
sacrifice, as you may see by my dress, but I have som
interest in the success of the fleet ; by Jupiter ! yes.
have a pretty trade, else how could I live in these har
times ? "
The Egyptian replied gravely, — " That though Isi
was properly the goddess of agriculture, she was n-
less the patron of commerce." Then turning his hea(
towards the east, Arbaces seemed absorbed in silen
prayer.
And now in the centre of the steps appeared a pries
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 45
robed in white from head to foot, the veil parting over
the crown ; two new priests relieved those hitherto sta-
tioned at either comer, being naked half-way down to
the breast, and covered, for the rest, in white and loose
robes. At the same time, seated at the bottom of the
steps, a priest commenced a solemn air upon a long
wind-instrument of music. Half-way down the steps
stood another flamen, holding in one hand the votive
wreath, in the other a white wand; while, adding to
the picturesque scene of that eastern ceremony, the
stately ibis (bird sacred to the Egyptian worship)
looked mutely down from the wall upon the rite, or
stalked beside the altar at the base of the steps.
At that altar now stood the sacrificial flamen.^
The countenance of Arbaces seemed to lose all its
rigid calm while the aruspices inspected the entrails,
and to be intent in pious anxiety — to rejoice and
brighten as the signs were declared favourable, and
the fire began bright and clearly to consume the sacred
portion of the victim amidst odours of myrrh and
frankincense. It was then that a dead silence fell over
the whispering crowd, and the priests gathering round
the cella, another priest, naked save by a cincture
round the middle, rushed forward, and dancing with
wild gestures, implored an answer from the goddess.
He ceased at last in exhaustion> and a low murmuring
noise was heard within the body of the statue ; thrice
the head moved, and the lips parted, and then a hollow
voice uttered these mystic words: —
" There are waves like chargers that meet and glow,
There are graves ready wrought in the rocks below ;
On the brow of the future the dangers lour,
But blest are your barks in the fearful hour."
* See a singular picture in the Museum of Naples, of an
Egyptian sacrifice.
46 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The voice ceased — ^the crowd breathed more fn
— the merchants looked at each other. " Nothing
be more plain," murmured Diomed ; " there is to t
storm at sea, as there very often is at the beginning
autumn, but our vessels are to be saved, O benefic
Isis ! **
" Lauded eternally be the goddess ! " said
merchants : " what can be less equivocal than 1
prediction?''
Raising one hand in sign of silence to the peoj
for the rites of Isis enjoined what to the lively Po
peians was an imipossible suspense from the use of t
vocal organs, the chief priest poured his libation on t
altar, and after a short concluding prayer the cei
mony was over, and the congregation dismissed. Sti
however, as the crowd dispersed themselves here ai
there, the Egyptian lingered by the railing, and wh<
the space became tolerably cleared, one of the priesi
approaching it, saluted him with great appearance
friendly familiarity.
The countenance of the priest was remarkably u
prepossessing. His shaven skull was so low and na
row in front as nearly to approach to the conformatic
of that of an African savage, save only towards tl
temples, where, in that organ styled acquisitiveness 1
the pupils of a science modern in name, but best pra
tically known (as their sculpture teaches us) among
the ancients, two huge and almost preternatural pr
tuberances yet more distorted the unshapely head:-
around the brows the skin was puckered into a W(
of deep and intricate wrinkles — the eyes, dark ar
small, rolled in a muddy and yellow orbit — ^the nos
short yet coarse, was distended at the nostrils like
satyr's — and the thick but pallid lips, the high cheel
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 47
bones, the livid and motley hues that struggled
through the parchment skin, completed a countenance
which none could behold without repugnance, and few
without terror and distrust. Whatever the wishes of
the mind, the animal frame was well fitted to execute
them ; the wiry muscles of the throat, the broad chest,
the nervous hands and lean gaunt arms, which were
bared above the elbow, betokened a form capable alike
of great active exertion and passive endurance.
" Calenus," said the Egyptian to this fascinating
flamen, " you have improved the voice of the statue
much by attending to my suggestion ; and your verses
are excellent. Always prophesy good fortune, unless
there is an absolute impossibility of its fulfilment."
" Besides,'* added Calenus, " if the storm does come,
and if it does overwhelm the accursed ships, have we
not prophesied it? and are the barks not blest to be at
rest? — for rest prays the mariner in the ^Egean sea,
or at least so says Horace; can the mariner be more
at rest in the sea than when he is at the bottom of it ? "
" Right^ my Calenus ; I wish Apaecides would take a
lesson from your wisdom. But I desire to confer with
you relative to him and to other matters : you can ad-
mit me into one of your less sacred apartments ? "
" Assuredly," replied the priest, leading the way to
one of the small chambers which surrounded the open
gate. Here they seated themselves before a small table
spread with dishes containing fruit and eggs, and vari-
ous cold meats, with vases of excellent wine, of which
while the companions partook, a curtain, drawn across
the entrance opening to the court, concealed them from
view, but admonished them by the thinness of the par-
tition to speak low, or to speak no secrets : they chose
the former alternative.
48^ THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Thou knowest," said Arbaces, in a voice t
scarcely stirred the air, so soft and inward was
sound, " that it has ever been my maxim to attach r
self to the young. From their flexile and unforn
minds I can carve out my fittest tools. I weave-
warp — I mould them at my will. Of the men I m*
merely followers or servants ; of the women "
" Mistresses," said Calenus as a livid grin distor
his ungainly features.
" Yes, I do not disguise it ; woman is the main <
ject, the great appetite of my soul. As you feed i
victim for the slaughter, / love to rear the votaries
my pleasure. I love to train, to ripen their minds
to unfold the sweet blossom of their hidden passio
in order to prepare the fruit to my taste. I loathe yc
ready-made and ripened courtesans; it is in the si
and unconscious progress of innocence to desire tha
find the true charm of love ; it is thus that I defy sa
ety; and by contemplating the freshness of others
sustain the freshness of my own sensations. From t
young hearts of my victims I draw the ingredients
the caldron in which I re-youth myself. But enou
of this : to the subject before us. You know, then, t\
in Neapolis some time since I encountered lone a
Apaecides, brother and sister, the children of'Athei
ans who had settled at Neapolis. The death of tin
parents, who knew and esteemed me, constituted r
their guardian. I was not unmindful of the tru
The youth, docile and mild, yielded readily to the ii
pression I sought to stamp upon him. Next to woma
I love the old recollections of my ancestral land ; I lo
to keep alive — ^to propagate on distant shores (whii
her colonies perchance yet people) her dark and mysl
creeds. It may be, that it pleases me to delude ma
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 49
kind, while I thus serve the deities. To Apaecides I
taught the solemn faith of Isis. I unfolded to him
something of those sublime allegories which are
couched beneath her worship. I excited in a soul pe-
culiarly alive to religious fervour that enthusiasm which
imagination begets on faith. I have placed him
amongst you : he is one of you."
" He is so," said Calenus : " but in thus stimulating
his faith, you have robbed him of wisdom. He is hor-
ror-struck that he is no longer duped : our sage delu-
sions, our speaking statues and secret staircases dismay
and revolt him ; he pines ; he wastes away ; he mutters
to himself; he refuses to share our ceremonies. He
has been known to frequent the company of men sus-
pected of adherence to that new and atheistical creed
which denies all our gods, and terms our oracles the
inspirations of that malevolent spirit of which eastern
tradition speaks. Our oracles — alas! we know well
whose inspirations they are ! "
This is what I feared," said Arbaces, musingly,
from various reproaches he made me when I last saw
him. Of late he hath shunned my steps : I must find
him : I must continue my lessons : I must lead him into
the adytum of Wisdom. I must teach him that there
are two stages of sanctity — the first, faith — the next,
delusion; the one for the vulgar, the second for the
sage."
" I never passed through the first," said Calenus ;
" nor you either, I think, my Arbaces."
" You err," replied the Egyptian, gravely. " I be-
lieve at this day (not indeed that which I teach, but that
which I teach not). Nature has a sanctity against which
I cannot (nor would I) steel conviction. I believe in
mine own knowledge, and that has revealed to me, —
4
so THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
but no matter. Now to earthlier and more invil
themes. If I thus fulfilled my object with Apaeci
what was my design for lone ? Thou knowest aire
I intend her for my queen — my bride — my heart's ]
Never till I saw her knew I all the love of which
nature is capable."
" I hear from a thousand lips that she is a sec
Helen/' said Calenus; and he smacked his own 1
but whether at the wine or at the notion it is not €
to decide.
" Yes, she has a beauty that Greece itself never
celled," resumed Arbaces. " But that is not all : she
a soul worthy to match with mine. She has a get
beyond that of woman — keen — dazzling — ^bold. Po<
flows spontaneous to her lips: utter but a truth, a
however intricate and profound, her mind seizes ;
commands it. Her imagination and her reason
not at war with each other ; they harmonise and dii
her course as the winds and the waves direct some k
bark. With this she unites a daring independence
thought ; she can stand alone in the world ; she can
brave as she is gentle ; this is the nature I have sou
all my life in woman, and never found till now. I
must be mine ! In her I have a double passion ; I y\
to enjoy a beauty of spirit as of form."
She is not yours yet, then ? " said the priest.
No ; she loves me — ^but as a friend : — she loves
with her mind only. She fancies in me the paltry ^
tues which I have only the profounder virtue to (
dain. But you must pursue with me her history. 1
brother and sister were young and rich : lone is pn
and ambitious — ^proud of her genius — the magic of
poetry — ^the charm of her conversation. When
brother left me, and entered your temple, in order
(I
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 51
be near him she removed also to Pompeii. She has
suffered her talents to be known. She summons
crowds to her feasts; her voice enchants them; her
poetry subdues. She delights in being thought the suc-
cessor of Erinna."
"Or of Sappho?"
" But Sappho without love ! I encouraged her in
this boldness of career — in this indulgence of vanity
and of pleasure. I loved to steep her amidst the dis-
sipations and luxury of this abandoned city. Mark
me, Calenus ! I desired to enervate her mind ! — it has
been too pure to receive yet the breath which I wish
not to pass, but bumingly to eat into, the mirror. I
wished her to be surrounded by lovers, hollow, vain,
and frivolous (lovers that her nature must despise), in
order to feel the want of love. Then, in those soft in-
tervals of lassitude that succeed to excitement, I can
weave my spells — excite her interest — attract her pas-
sions— ^possess myself of her heart. For it is not the
young, nor the beautiful, nor the gay, that should fas-
cinate lone ; her imagination must be won, and the life
of Arbaces has been one scene of triumph over the im-
aginations of his kind."
" And hast thou no fear, then, of thy rivals ? The
gallants of Italy are skilled in the art to please."
" None ! Her Greek soul despises the barbarian Ro-
mans, and would scorn itself if it admitted a thought
of love for one of that upstart race."
" But thou art an Egyptian, not a Greek ! "
" Egypt," replied Arbaces, " is the mother of Athens.
Her tutelary Minerva is our deity; and her founder,
Cecrops, was the fugitive of Egyptian Sais. This have
I already taught to her ; and in my blood she venerates
the eldest dynasties of earth. But yet I will own that
52 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
of late some uneasy suspicions have crossed my mind.
She is more silent than she used to be ; she loves mel-
ancholy and subduing music ; she sighs without an out-
ward cause. This may be the beginning of love — it
may be the want of love. In either case it is time for
me to begin my operations on her fancies and her heart :
in the one case, to divert the source of love to me ; in
the other, in me to awaken it. It is for this that I have
sought you."
" And how can I assist you ? "
" I am about to invite her to a feast in my house : 1
wish to dazzle — ^to bewilder — to inflame her senses.
Our arts — the arts by which Egypt trained her young
novitiates — must be employed; and, under veil of the
mysteries of religion, I will open to her the secrets of
love."
" Ah ! now I understand : — one of those voluptuous
banquets that, despite our dull vows of mortified cold-
ness, we, thy priests of Isis, have shared at thy house."
" No, no ! Thinkest thou her chaste eyes are ripe for
such scenes ? No ; but first we must ensnare the brother
— an easier task. Listen to me, while I give you my
instructions."
CHAPTER V
MORE OF THE FLOWER GIRL. — THE PROGRESS OF LOVE.
The sun shone gaily into that beautiful chamber in
the house of Glaucus, which I have before said is now
called " the Room of Leda." The morning rays en-
tered through rows of small casements at the higher
part of the room, and through the door which opened
on the garden, that answered to the inhabitants of the
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 53
southern cities the same purpose that a greenhouse or
conservatory does to us. The size of the garden did
not adapt it for exercise, but the various and fragrant
plants with which it was filled gave a luxury to that
indolence so dear to the dwellers in a sunny clime. And
now the odours, fanned by a gentle wind creeping from
the adjacent sea, scattered themselves over that cham-
ber, whose walls vied with the richest colours of the
most glowing flowers. Besides the gem of the room —
the painting of Leda and Tyndarus — in the centre of
each compartment of the walls were set other pictures
of exquisite beauty. In one you saw Cupid leaning on
the knees of Venus ; in another Ariadne sleeping on the
beach, unconscious of the perfidy of Theseus. Merrily
the sunbeams played to and fro on the tesselated floor
and the brilliant walls — far more happily came the rays
of joy to the heart of the young Glaucus.
" I have seen her, then," said he, as he paced that
narrow chamber — " I have heard her — nay, I have
spoken to her again — I have listened to the music of
her song, and she sung of glory and of Greece. I have
discovered the long-sought idol of my dreams; and
like the Cyprian sculptor, I have breathed life into my
own imaginings."
Longer, perhaps, had been the enamoured soliloquy
of Glaucus, but at that moment a shadow darkened the
threshold of the chamber, and a young female, still
half a child in years, broke upon his solitude. She was
dressed simply in a white tunic, which reached from
the neck to the ankles ; under her arm she bore a basket
of flowers, and in the other hand she held a bronze
water-vase; her features were more formed than ex-
actly became her years, yet they were soft and
feminine in their outline, and, without being beautiful
54 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
in themselves, they were almost made so by their beauty
of expression; there was something ineffably gentle,
and you would say patient, in her aspect. A look of re-
signed sorrow, of tranquil endurance, had banished the
smile, but not the sweetness, from her lips ; something
timid and cautious in her step — something wandering
in her eyes, led you to suspect the affliction which she
had suffered from her birth: — she was blind; but in
the orbs themselves there was no visible defect — their
melancholy and subdued light was clear, cloudless, and
serene. " They tell me that Glaucus is here," said she ;
" may I come in ? "
" Ah, my Nydia," said the Greek, " is that you ? I
knew you would not neglect my invitation."
" Glaucus did but justice to himself," answered
Nydia, with a blush ; " for he has always been kind to
the poor blind girl."
" Who could be otherwise? " said Glaucus, tenderly,
and in the voice of a compassionate brother.
Nydia sighed and paused before she resumed, with-
out replying to his remark. '* You have but lately re-
turned ? "
" This is the sixth sun that hath shone upon me at
Pompeii."
" And you are well ? Ah, I need not ask — for who
that sees the earth, which they tell me is so beautiful,
can be ill ? "
" I am well. And you, Nydia — ^how you have
grown ! Next year you will be thinking what answer
to make your lovers."
A second blush passed over the cheek of Nydia, but
this time she frowned as she blushed. ** I have brought
you some flowers," said she, without replying to a re-
mark that she seemed to resent ; and feeling about the
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 55
room till she found the table that stood by Glaucus, she
laid the basket upon it : " they are poor, but they are
fresh-gathered."
" They might come from Flora herself," said he,
kindly ; " and I renew again my vow to the Graces, that
I will wear no other garlands while thy hands can
weave me such as these."
" And how find you the flowers in your viridarium?
— are they thriving ? "
" Wonderfully so — ^the Lares themselves must have
tended them."
" Ah, now you give me pleasure ; for I came, as
often as I could steal the leisure, to water and tend
them in your absence."
" How shall I thank thee, fair , Nydia ? " said the
Greek. " Glaucus little dreamed that he left one mem-
ory so watchful over his favourites at Pompeii."
The hand of the child trembled, and her breast
heaved beneath her tunic. She turned round in em-
barrassment. " The sun is hot for the poor flowers,"
said she, " to-day and they will miss me ; for I have
been ill lately, and it is nine days since I visited them."
" 111, Nydia ! — yet your cheek has more colour than
it had last year."
" I am often ailing," said the blind girl, touchingly ;
" and as I grow up I grieve more that I am blind. But
now to the flowers ! " So saying, she made a slight rev-
erence with her head, and passing into the viridarium,
busied herself with watering the flowers.
" Poor Nydia," thought Glaucus, gazing on her ;
" thine is a hard doom ! Thou seest not the earth —
nor the sun — ^nor the ocean — nor the stars ; — above all,
thou canst not behold lone."
At that last thought his mind flew back to the past
56 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
evening, and was a second time disturbed in its reveries
by the entrance of Clodiiis. It was a proof how much
a single evening had sufficed to increase and to refine
the love of the Athenian for lone, that whereas he had
confided to Clodius the secret of his first interview with
her, and the effect it had produced on him^ he now
felt an invincible aversion even to mention to him her
name. He had seen lone, bright, pure, unsullied, in
the midst of the gayest and most profligate gallants
of Pompeii, charming rather than awing the boldest
into respect, and changing the very nature of the most
sensual and the least ideal : — as by her intellectual and
refining spells she reversed the fable of Circe, and con-
verted the animals into men. They who could not im-
derstand her soul were made spiritual, as it were, by
the magic of her beauty ; — they who had no heart for
poetry had ears, at least for the melody of her voice.
Seeing her thus surrounded, purifying and brightening
all things with her presence, Glaucus almost for the
first time felt the nobleness of his own nature, — ^he felt
how unworthy of the goddess of his dreams had been
his companions and his pursuits. A veil seemed lifted
from his eyes ; he saw that immeasurable distance be-
tween himself and his associates which the deceiving
mists of pleasure had hitherto concealed: he was re-
fined by a sense of his courage in aspiring to lone. He
felt that henceforth it was his destiny to look upward
and to soar. He could no longer breathe that name,
which sounded to the sense of his ardent fancy some-
thing sacred and divine, to lewd and vulgar ears. She
was no longer the beautiful girl once seen and passion-
ately remembered, — she was already the mistress, the
divinity of his soul. This feeling who has not expe-
rienced ? — If thou hast not, then thou hast never loved.
THE LAST DAYS ,OF POMPEII $7
When Clodius therefore spoke to him in affected
transports of the beauty of lone, Glaucus felt only re-
sentment and disgust that such lips should dare to
praise her; he answered coldly, and the Roman im-
agined that his passion was cured instead of height-
ened. Clodius scarcely regretted it, for he was anxious
that Glaucus should marry an heiress yet more richly
endowed — Julia, the daughter of the wealthy Diomed,
whose gold the gamester imagined he could readily di-
vert into his own coffers. Their conversation did not
flow with its usual ease ; and no sooner had Clodius left
him than Glaucus bent his way to the house of lone. In
passing by the threshold he again encountered Nydia,
who had finished her graceful task. She knew his step
on the instant.
" You are early abroad ? " said she.
" Yes, for the skies, of Campania rebuke the slug-
gard who neglects them.**
" Ah, would I could see them ! ** murmured the
blind girl, but so low that Glaucus did not overhear the
complaint.
The Thessalian lingered on the threshold a few mo-
ments, and then guiding her steps by a long staff, which
she used with great dexterity, she took her way home-
ward. She soon turned from the more gaudy streets,
and entered a quarter of the town but Kttle loved by
the decorous and the sober. But from the low and
rude evidences of vice around her she was saved by
her misfortune. And at that hour the streets were
quiet and silent, nor was her youthful ear shocked by
the sounds which too often broke along the obscene and
obscure haunts she patiently and sadly traversed.
She knocked at the back door of a sort of tavern ; it
opened, and a rude voice bade her give an account of
58 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the sesterces- Ere she could reply, another voice, less
vulgarly accented, said —
" Never mind those petty profits, my Burbo. The
girl's voice will be wanted again soon at our rich
friend's revels; and he pays, as thou knowest, pretty
high for his nightingales' tongues."
" Oh, I hope not — I trust not," cried Nydia, trem-
bling ; " I will beg from sunrise to sunset, but send me
not there." ,
" And why ? " asked the same voice.
" Because — ^because I am young, and delicately born,
and the female companions I meet there are not fit asso-
ciates for one who — who —
cb lor one wiiu — whu "
Is a slave in the house of Burbo," returned the
voice ironically, and with a coarse laugh.
The Thessalian put down her flowers, and, leaning
her face on her hands, wept silently.
Meanwhile Glaucus sought the house of the beau-
tiful Neapolitan. He found lone sitting amidst her at-
tendants, who were at work around her. Her harp
stood at her side, for lone herself was unusually idle,
perhaps unusually thoughtful, that day. He thought
her even more beautiful by the morning light, and in
her simple robe, than amidst the blazing lamps, and
decorated with the costly jewels of the previous night :
not the less so from a certain paleness that overspread
her transparent hues, — not the less so from the blush
that mounted over them when he approached. Ac-
customed to flatter, flattery died upon his lips when
he addressed lone. He felt it beneath her to utter the
homage which every look conveyed. They spoke of
Greece ; this was a theme on which lone loved rather
to listen than to converse: it was a theme on which
the Greek could have been eloquent for ever. He
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 59
described to her the silver olive groves that yet clad
the banks of Ilissus, and the temples, already despoiled
of half their glories — but how beautiful in decay ! He
looked back on the melancholy city of Harmodius the
free, and Pericles the magnificent, from the height of
that distant memory which mellowed into no hazy
light all the ruder and darker shades. He had seen
the land of poetry chiefly in the poetical age of early
youth ; and the associations of patriotism were blended
with those of the flush and the spring of life. And
lone listened to him, absorbed and mute ; dearer were
those accents, and those descriptions, than all the
prodigal adulation of her numberless adorers. Was
it a sin to love her countrymen? she loved Athens in
him — the gods of her race, the land of her dreams,
spoke to her in his voice! From that time they daily
saw each other. At the cool of the evening they made
excursions on the placid sea. By night they met again
in lone's porticoes and halls. Their love was sudden,
but it was strong ; it filled all the sources of their life.
Heart — ^brain — sense — imagination, all were its minis-
ters and priests. As you take some obstacle from two
objects that have a mutual attraction, they met, and
united at once ; their wonder was, that they had lived
separate so long. And it was natural that they should
so love. Young, beautiful, and gifted — of the same
birth, and the same souls; — there was poetry in their
very union. They imagined the heavens smiled upon
their ^affection. As the persecuted seek refuge at the
shrine, so they recognised in the altar of their love an
asylum from the sorrows of earth ; they covered it with
flowers — ^they knew not of the serpents that lay coiled
behind.
One evening, the fifth after their first meeting at
6o THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Pompeii, Glaucus and lone, with a small party of
chosen friends, were returning from an excursion
round the bay; their vessel skimmed lightly over the
twilight waters, whose lucid mirror was only broken
by the dripping oars. As the rest of the party con-
versed gaily with each other, Glaucus lay at the feet of
lone, and he would have looked up in her face, but he
did not dare, lone broke the pause between them.
" My poor brother," said she, sighing, " how once
he would have enjoyed this hour ! "
" Your brother," said Glaucus ; " I have not seen
him. Occupied with you, I have thought of nothing
else, or I should have asked if that was not your brother
for whose companionship you left me at the Temple of
Minerva, in Neapolis ? "
" It was."
"And is he here?"
" He is."
" At Pompeii ! and not constantly with you ? Impos-
sible ! "
" He has other duties," answered lone, sadly ; " he is
a priest of Isis."
" So young, too ; and that priesthood, in its laws at
least, so severe ! " said the warm and bright-hearted
Greek, in surprise and pity. " What could have been
his inducement ? "
" He was always enthusiastic and fervent in relig-
ious devotion : and the eloquence of an Egyptian — our
friend and guardian — kindled in him the pious desire
to consecrate his life to the most mystic of our deities.
Perhaps, in the intenseness of his zeal, he found in the
severity of that peculiar priesthood its peculiar attrac-
tion."
" And he does not repent his choice ? — I trust he is
happy."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 6i
lone sighed deeply, and lowered her veil over her
eyes.
" I wish," said she, after a pause, " that he had not
been so hasty. Perhaps, like all who expect too much,
he is revolted too easily ! "
" Then he is not happy in his new condition. And
this Egyptian, was he a priest himself? was he inter-
ested in recruits to the sacred band ? "
" No. His main interest was in our happiness. He
thought he promoted that of my brother. We were left
orphans."
" Like myself," said Glaucus, with a deep meaning
in his voice.
lone cast down her eyes as she resumed, —
" And Arbaces sought to supply the place of our
parent. You must know him. He loves genius."
" Arbaces ! I know him already ; at least, we speak
when we meet. But for your praise I would not seek
to know more of him. My heart inclines readily to
most of my kind. But that dark Egyptian, with his
gloomy brow and icy smiles, seems to me to sadden the
very sun. One would think that, like Epimenides, the
Cretan, he had spent forty years in a cave, and had
found something unnatural in the daylight ever after-
wards."
"Yet, like Epimenides, he is kind, and wise, and
gentle," answered lone.
" Oh, happy that he has thy praise ! He needs no
other virtues to make him dear to me."
" His calm, his coldness," said lone, evasively pur-
suing the subject, " are perhaps but the exhaustion of
past sufferings ; as yonder mountain (and she pointed
to Vesuvius), which we see dark and tranquil in the
distance, once nursed the fires for ever quenched."
r'
62 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
They both gazed on the mountain as lone said these
words ; the rest of the sky was bathed in rosy and ten-
der hues, but over that grey summit, rising amidst
the woods and vineyards that then clomb half-way up
the ascent, there hung a black and ominous cloud, the
single frown of the landscape. A sudden and unac-
countable gloom came over each as they thus gazed;
and in that sympathy which love had already taught
them, and which bade them, in the slightest shadows
of emotion, the faintest presentiment of evil, turn for
refuge to each other, their gaze at the same moment
left the mountain, and, full of unimaginable tender-
ness, met. What need had they of words to say they
loved ?
CHAPTER VI
THE FOWLER SNARES AGAIN THE BIRD THAT HAD JUST
ESCAPED, AND SETS HIS NETS FOR A NEW VICTIM.
In the history I relate, the events are crowded and
rapid as those of the drama. I write of an epoch in
which days sufficed to ripen the ordinary fruits of
years.
Meanwhile, Arbaces had not of late much frequented
the house of lone ; and when he had visited her he had
not encountered Glaucus, nor knew he, as yet, of that
love which had so suddenly sprung up between him-
self and his designs. In his interest for the brother
of lone, he had been forced, too, a little while, to sus-
pend his interest in lone herself. His pride and his
selfishness were aroused and alarmed at the sudden
change which had come over the spirit of the youth.
He trembled lest he Himself should lose a docile pupil,
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 63
and Isis an enthusiastic servant. Apaecides had ceased
to seek or to consult him. He was rarely to be found ;
he turned sullenly from the Egyptian, — nay, he fled
when he perceived him in the distance. Arbaces was
one of those haughty and powerful spirits accustomed
to master others ; he chafed at the notion that one once
his own should ever elude his grasp. He swore inly
that Apaecides should not escape him.
It was with this resolution that he passed through a
thick grove in the city, which lay between his house
and that of lone, in his way to the latter ;*and there,
leaning against a tree, and gazing on the ground, he
came unawares on the young priest of Isis.
" Apaecides ! '* said he, — and he laid his hand af-
fectionately on the young man's shoulder.
The priest started ; and his first instinct seemed to be
that of flight. " My son," said the Egyptian, " what
has chanced that you desire to shun me ? "
Ap3ecides remained silent and sullen, looking down
on the earth, as his lips quivered, and his breast heaved
with emotion.
" Speak to me, my friend," continued the Egyptian.
" Speak. Something burdens thy spirit. What hast
thou to reveal ? "
" To thee— nothing."
" And why is it to me thou art thus unconfidential ? "
" Because thou hast been my enemy."
"Let us confer," said Arbaces, in a low voice; and
drawing the reluctant arm of the priest in his own, he
led him to one of the seats which were scattered within
the grove. They sat down, — and in those gloomy forms
there was something congenial to the shade and solitude
of the place.
Apaecides was in the spring of his years, yet he
64 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
seemed to have exhausted even more of life than the
Egyptian ; his delicate and regular features were worn
and colourless; his eyes were hollow, and shone with
a brilliant and feverish glare; his frame bowed pre-
maturely, and in his hands, which were small to
effeminacy, the blue and swollen veins indicated the
lassitude and weakness of the relaxed fibres. You
saw in his face a strong resemblance of lone, but the
expression was altogether different from that majestic
and spiritual calm which breathed so divine and clas-
sical a rep"bse over his sister's beauty. In her, enthu-
siasm was visible, but it seemed always suppressed
and restrained ; this made the charm and sentiment of
her countenance ; you longed to awaken a spirit which
reposed, but evidently did not sleep. In Apaecides the
whole aspect betokened the fervour and passion of his
temperament, and the intellectual portion of his nature
seemed, by the wild fire of the eyes, the great breadth
of the temples when compared with the height of the
brow, the trembling restlessness of the lips, to be
swayed and tyrannised over by the imaginative and
ideal. Fancy, with the sister, had stopped short at the
golden goal of poetry ; with the brother, less happy and
less restrained, it had wandered into visions more in-
tangible and unembodied ; and the faculties which gave
genius to the one threatened madness to the other, --
" You say I have been your enemy," said Arbaces.
" I know the cause of that unjust accusation: I have
placed you amidst the priests of I sis — ^you are revolted
at their trickeries and imposture — ^you think that I too
have deceived you — ^the purity of your mind is offended
— ^you imagine that I am one of the deceitful "
"You knew the jugglings of that impious craft,"
answered Apaecides ; " why did you disguise them
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 65
from me ? When you excited my desire to devote my-
self to the office whose garb I bear, you spoke to me
of the holy life of men resigning themselves to knowl-
edge— ^you have given me for companions an ignorant
and sensual herd, who have no knowledge but that of
the grossest frauds; — ^you spoke to me of men sac-
rificing the earthlier pleasures to the sublime cultiva-
tion- of virtue — ^you place me amongst men reeking
with all the filthiness of vice ; — ^you spoke to me of the
friends, the enlighteners of our common kind — I see
but their cheats and deluders ! Oh ! it was basely done !
— ^you have robbed me of the glory of youth, of the
convictions of virtue, of the sanctifying thirst after
wisdom. Young as I was, rich, fervent, the sunny
pleasures of earth before me, I resigned all without a
sigh, nay, with happiness and exultation, in the thought
that I resigned them for the abstruse mysteries of di-
viner wisdom, for the companionship of gods — for the
revelations of Heaven — ^and now — now "
Convulsive sobs checked the priest's voice: he cov-
ered his face with his hands, and large tears forced
themselves through the wasted fingers, and ran pro-
fusely down his vest.
" What I promised to thee, that will I give, my ,
friend, my pupil: these have been but trials to thy
virtue — it comes forth the brighter for thy novitiate, —
think no more of those dull cheats — assort no more
with those menials of the goddess, the atrienses ^ of
her hall — you are worthy to enter into the penetralia.
I henceforth will be your priest, your guide, and you
who now curse my friendship shall live to bless it."
The young man lifted up his head, and gazed with
a vacant and wondering stare upon the Egyptian.
^ The slaves who had the care of the atrium.
5
66 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Listen to me," continued Arbaces, in an earnest
and solemn voice, casting first his searching eyes
around to see that they were still alone. " From Egypt
came all the knowledge of the world; from Egypt
came the lore of Athens, and the profound policy of
Crete; from Egypt came those early and mysterious
tribes which (long before the hordes of Romulus
swept over the plains of Italy, and in the eternal cycle
of events drove back civilisation into barbarism and
darkness) possessed all the arts of wisdom and the
graces of intellectual life. From Egypt came the rites
and the grandeur of that solemn Caere, whose inhabi-
tants taught their iron vanquishers of Rome all that
they yet know of elevated in religion and sublime in
worship. And how deemest thou, young man, that
that dread Egypt, the mother of countless nations,
achieved her greatness, and soared to her cloud-capt
eminence of wisdom ? — It was the result of a profound
and holy policy. Your modern nations owe their great-
ness to Egypt — Egypt her greatness to her priests.
Rapt in themselves, coveting a sway over the nobler
part of man, his soul and his belief, those ancient min-
isters of God were inspired with the grandest thought
that ever exalted mortals. From the revolutions of the
stars, from the seasons of the earth, from the round
and unvarying circle of human destinies, they devised
an august allegory ; they made it gross and palpable to
the vulgar by the signs of gods and goddesses, and
that which in reality was Government they named Re-
ligion. Isis is a fable — start not ! — ^that for which Isis
is a type is a reality, an immortal being; Isis is noth-
ing. Nature, which she represents, is the mother of
all things — dark, ancient, inscrutable, save to the
gifted few. * None among mortals hath ever lifted
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 67
up my veil,' so saith the Isis that you adore ; but to the
wise that veil hath been removed, and we have stood
face to face with the solemn loveliness of Nature. The
priests then were the benefactors, the civilised of man-
kind ; true, they were also cheats, impostors if you will.
But think you, young man, that if they had not deceived
their kind they could have served them ? The ignorant
and servile vulgar must be blinded to attain to their
proper good; they would not believe a maxim; they
revere an oracle. The Emperor of Rome sways the
vast and various tribes of earth, and harmonises the
conflicting and disunited elements ; thence come peace,
order, law, the blessings of life. Think you it is the
man, the emperor, that thus sways? — no, it is the
pomp, the awe, the majesty that surround him — these
are his impostures, his delusions ; our oracles and our
divinations, our rites and our ceremonies, are the
means of our sovereignty and the engines of our
power. They are the same means to the same ends,
the welfare and harmony of mankind. You listen to
me rapt and intent — the light begins to dawn upon
you."
Apaecides remained silent, but the changes rapidly
passing over his speaking countenance betrayed the
effect produced upon him by the words of the Egyptian
— ^words made tenfold more eloquent by the voice, the
aspect, and the manner of the man.
" While then," resumed Arbaces, " our fathers of
the Nile thus achieved the first elements by whose life
chaos is destroyed, namely, the obedience and rever-
ence of the multitude for the few, they drew from their
majestic and starred meditations that wisdom which
was fio delusion : they invented the codes and regulari-
ties of law — ^the arts and glories of existence. They
68 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
asked belief; they returned the gift by civilisation.
Were not their very cheats a virtue ? Trust me, who-
soever in yon far heavens of a diviner and beneficent
nature look down upon our world, smile approvingly
on the wisdom which has worked such ends. But you
wish me to apply these generalities to yourself ; I hasten
to obey the wish. The altars of the goddess of our an-
cient faith must be served, and served too by others
than the stolid and soulless things that are but pegs
and hooks whereon to hang the fillet and the robe. Re-
member two sayings of Sextus the Pythagorean, say-
ings borrowed from the lore of Egypt. The first is,
* Speak not of God to the multitude ; ' the second is,
* The man worthy of God is a god among men.' As
Genius gave to the ministers of Egypt worship, that
empire in late ages so fearfully decayed, thus by
Genius only can the dominion be restored. I saw in
you, Apaecides, a pupil worthy of my lessons — ^a min-
ister worthy of the great ends which may yet be
wrought: your energy, your talents, your purity of
faith, your earnestness of enthusiasm, all fitted you for
that calling which demands so imperiously high and
ardent qualities: I fanned, therefore, your sacred de-
sires ; I stimulated you to the step you have taken. But
you blame me that I did not reveal to you the little
souls and the juggling tricks of your companions. Had
I done so, Apaecides, I had defeated my own object:
your noble nature would have at once revolted, and
Isis would have lost her priest."
Apaecides groaned aloud. The Egyptian continued,
without heeding the interruption.
" I placed you, therefore, without preparation, in
the temple ; I left you suddenly to discover and to be
sickened by all those mummeries which dazzled the
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 69
herd. I desired that you should perceive how those
engines are moved by which the fountain that re-
freshes the world casts its waters in the air. It was
the trial ordained of old to all our priests. They who
accustom themselves to the impostures of the vulgar,
are left to practise them; — for those like you, whose
higher natures demand higher pursuit, religion opens
more godlike secrets. I am pleased to find in you the
character I had expected. You have taken the vows ;
you cannot recede. Advance — I will be your guide,"
" And what wilt thou teach me, O singular and fear-
ful man ? New cheats — ^new "
" No — I have thrown thee into the abyss of disbe-
lief ; I will lead thee now to the eminence of faith. Thou
hast seen the false types: thou shalt learn now the
realities they represent. There is no shadow, Apaecides,
without its substance. Come to me this night. Your
hand."
Impressed, excited, bewildered by the language of
the Egyptian, Apaecides gave him his hand, and master
and pupil parted.
It was true that for Apaecides there was no retreat.
He had taken the vows of celibacy: he had devoted
himself to a life that at present seemed to possess all
the austerities of fanaticism, without any of the con-
solations of belief. It was natural that he should yet
cling to a yearning desire to reconcile himself to an
irrevocable career. The powerful and profound mind
of the Egyptian yet claimed an empire over his young
imagination; excited him with vague conjecture, and
kept him alternately vibrating between hope and fear.
Meanwhile Arbaces pursued his slow and stately way
to the house of lone. As he entered the tablinum, he
heard a voice from the porticoes of the peristyle be-
70 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
yond, which, musical as it was, sounded displeasingly
on his ear — it was the voice of the young and beautiful
Glaucus, and for the first time an involuntary thrill
of jealousy shot through the breast of the Egyptian.
On entering the peristyle, he found Glaucus seated by
the side of lone. The fountain in the odorous garden
cast up its silver spray in the air, and kept a delicious
coolness in the midst of the sultry noon. The hand-
maids, almost invariably attendant on lone, who with
her freedom of life preserved the most delicate mod-
esty, sat at a little distance ; by the feet of Glaucus lay
the lyre on which he had been playing to lone one of
the Lesbian airs. The scene — the group before Ar-
baces — ^was stamped by that peculiar and refined
ideality of poesy which we yet, not erroneously, im-
agine to be the distinction of the ancients, — the marble
columns, the vases of flowers, the statue, white and
tranquil, closing every vista; and, above all, the two
living forms, from which a sculptor might have caught
either inspiration or despair !
Arbaces, pausing for a moment, gazed on the pair
with a brow from which all the usual stem serenity
had fled ; he recovered himself by an eflFort, and slowly
approached them, but with a step so soft and echoless,
that even the attendants heard him not ; much less lone
and her lover.
" And yet," said Glaucus, " it is only before we love
that we imagine that our poets have truly described the
passion ; the instant the sun rises, all the stars that had
shone in his absence vanish into air. The poets exist
only in the night of the heart ; they are nothing to us
when we feel the full glory of the god." ,
" A gentle and most glowing image, noble Glaucus."
Both started, and recognised behind the seat of lone
the cold and sarcastic face of the Egyptian.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 71
" You are a sudden guest," said Glaucus, rising, and
with a forced smile.
" So ought all to be who know they are welcome,"
returned Arbaces, seating himself, and motioning to
Glaucus to do the same.
" I am glad," said lone, " to see you at length to-
gether ; for you are suited to each other, and you are
formed to be friends."
" Give me back some fifteen years of life," replied
the Egyptian, " before you can place me on an equality
with Glaucus. Happy should I be to receive his friend-
ship ; but what can I give him in return ? Can I make
to him the same confidences that he would repose in me
^-of banquets and garlands — of Parthian steeds, and
the chances of the dice? these pleasures suit his age,
his nature, his career: they are not for mine."
So saying, the artful Egyptian looked down and
sighed ; but from the comer of his eye he stole a glance
towards lone, to see how she received these insinuations
of the pursuits of her visitor. Her countenance did not
satisfy him. Glaucus, slightlv colouring, hastened
gaily to reply. Nor was he, perhaps, without the wish
in his turn to disconcert and abash the Egyptian.
" You are right, wise Arbaces," said he ; " we can
esteem each other, but we cannot be friends. My ban-
quets lack the secret salt, which, according to rumour,
gives such zest to your own. And, by Hercules ! when
I have reached your age, if I, like you, may think it
wise to pursue the pleasures of manhood, like you, I
shall be doubtless sarcastic on the gallantries of
vouth,"
m
The Egyptian raised his eyes to Glaucus with a sud-
den and piercing glance.
*' I do not understand you," said he, coldly ; " but it
^2 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
is the custom to consider that wit lies in obscurity."
He turned from Glaucus as he spoke, with a scarcely
perceptible sneer of contempt, and after a moment's
pause addressed himself to lone. " I have not, beau-
tiful lone," said he, " been fortunate enough to find
you within doors the last two or three times that I have
visited your vestibule."
" The smoothness of the sea has tempted me much
from home," replied lone, with a little embarrassment.
The embarrassment did not escape Arbaces; but
without seeming to heed it, he replied with a smile:
" You know the old poet says, that ' Women should
keep within doors, and there converse.' " *
" The poet was a cynic," said Glaucus, " and hated
women."
" He spake according to the customs of his country,
and that country is your boasted Greece."
" To different periods different customs. ' Had our
forefathers known lone, they had made a different
law."
" Did you learn these pretty gallantries at Rome ? "
said Arbaces, with ill-suppressed emotion.
" One certainly would not go for gallantries to
Egypt," retorted Glaucus, playing carelessly with his
chain.
" Come, come," said lone, hastening to interrupt a
conversation which she saw, to her great distress, was
so little likely to cement the intimacy she had desired
to effect between Glaucus and her friend. " Arbaces
must not be so hard upon his poor pupil; An orphan,
and without a mother's care, I may be to blame for
the independent and almost masculine liberty of life
that I have chosen : yet it is not greater than the Roman
1 Euripides.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 73
women are accustomed to — it is not greater than the
Grecian ought to be. Alas ! is it only to be among men
that freedom and virtue are to be deemed united ? Why
should the slavery that destroys you be considered the
only method to preserve us? Ah! 6elieve me, it has
been the great error of men — and one that has worked
bitterly on their destinies — to imagine that the nature
of women is (I will not say inferior, that may be so,
but) so different from their own, in making laws un-
favourable to the intellectual advancement of women.
Have they not, in so doing, made laws against their
children, whom women are to rear ? — against the hus-
bands, of whom women are to be the friends, nay,
sometimes the advisers ? " lone stopped short sud-
denly, and her face was suffused with the most en-
chanting blushes. She feared lest her enthusiasm had
led her too far ; yet she feared the austere Arbaces less
than the courteous Glaucus, for she loved the last, and
it was not the custom of the Greeks to allow their
women (at least such of their women as they most
honoured) the same liberty and the same station as
those of Italy enjoyed. She felt, therefore, a thrill of
delight as Glaucus earnestly replied, —
" Ever mayst thou think thus, lone — ever be your
pure heart your unerring guide! Happ)^ it had been
for Greece if she had given to the chaste the same in-
tellectual charms that are so celebrated amongst the
less worthy of her women. No state falls from freedom
— from knowledge, while your sex smile only on the
free, and by appreciating, encourage the wise."
Arbaces was silent, for it was neither his part to
sanction the sentiment of Glaucus, nor to condemn that
of lone; and after a short and embarrassed conversa-
tion, Glaucus took his leave of lone.
74 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
When he was gone, Arbaces, drawing his seat nearer
to the fair Neapolitan's, said in those bland and sub-
dued tones, in which he knew so well how to veil the
mingled art and fierceness of his character, —
" Think not, my sweet pupil, if so I may call you,
that I wish to shackle that liberty you adorn while
you assume : but which, if not greater, as you rightly
observe, than that possessed by the Roman women,
must at least be accompanied by great circumspection,
when arrogated by one unmarried. Continue to draw
crowds of the gay, the brilliant, the wise themselves,
to your feet — continue to charm them with the con-
versation of an Aspasia, the music of an Erinna — ^but
reflect, at least, on those censorious tongues which can
so easily blight the tender reputation of a maiden ; and
while you provoke admiration, give, I beseech you, no
victory to envy."
" What mean you, Arbaces ? " said lone, in an
alarmed and trembling voice : ** I know you are my
friend, that you desire only my honour and my welfare.
What is it you would say ? "
" Your friend — ^ah, how sincerely ! May I speak
then as a friend, without reserve and without offence ? "
I beseech you do so."
This young profligate, this Glaucus, how didst thou
know him ? Hast thou seen him often ? " And as Ar-
baces spoke, he fixed his gaze steadfastly upon lone, as
if he sought to penetrate into her soul.
Recoiling before that gaze, with a strange fear which
she could not explain, the Neapolitan answered with
confusion and hesitation, — " He was brought to my
house as a countryman of my father's and I may say of
mine. I have known him only within this last week or
so : but why these questions ? "
it
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 75
" Forgive me," said Arbaces ; " I thought you might
have known him longer. Base insinuator that he is ! "
" How ! what mean you ? Why that term ? "
" It matters not : let me not rouse your indignation
against one who does not deserve so grave an honour."
" I implore you speak. What has Glaucus in-
sinuated? or rather in what do you suppose he has
offended ? "
Smothering his resentment at the last part of lone's
question, Arbaces continued, — " You know his pur-
suits, his companions, his habits; the comissatio and
the alea (the revel and the dice) make his occupation ; —
and amongst the associates of vice how can he dream
of virtue ? " .
"Still you speak riddles. By the gods! I entreat
you, say the worst at once."
** Well, then, it must be so. Know, my lone, that
it was but yesterday that Glaucus boasted openly —
yes, in the public baths — of your love to him. He said
it amused him to take advantage of it. Nay, I will do
him justice, he praised your beauty. Who could deny
it? But he laughed' scornfully when his Clodius, or
his Lepidus, asked him if he loved you enough for
marriage, and when he purposed to adorn his door-
posts with flowers ? "
" Impossible ! How heard you this base slander ? "
" Nay, would you have me relate to you all the com-
ments of the insolent coxcombs with which the storv
has circled through the town? Be assured that I my-
self disbelieved at first, and that I have now painfully
bfeen convinced by several ear-witnesses of the truth of
what I have reluctantly told thee."
lone sank back, and her face was whiter than the
pillar against which she leaned for support.
76 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" I own it vexed — it irritated me, to hear your name
thus lightly pitched from lip to lip, like some mere
dancing-girl's fame. I hastened this morning to seek
and to warn you. I found Glaucus here. I was stung
from my self-possession. I could not conceal my feel-
ings; nay, I was uncourteous in thy presence. Canst
thou forgive thy friend, lone ? "
lone placed her hand in his, but replied not.
" Think no more of this," said he ; " but let it be a
warning voice to tell thee how much prudence thy lot
requires. It cannot hurt thee, lone, for a moment ; for
a gay thing like this could never have been honoured
by even a serious thought from lone. These insults
only wound when they come from one we love; far
different indeed is he whom the lofty lone shall stoop
to love."
Love ! " muttered lone, with an hysterical laugh.
Ay, indeed."
It is not without interest to observe in those remote
times, and under a social system" so widely different
from the modern, the same small causes that ruflfle and
interrupt the " course of love," which operate so com-
monly at this day; — the same inventive jealousy, the
same cunning slander, the same crafty and fabricated
retailings of petty gossip, which so often now suffice
to break the ties of the truest love, and counteract the
tenor of circumstances most apparently propitious.
When the bark sails on over the smoothest wave, the
fable tells us of the diminutive fish that can cling to
the keel and arrest its progress : so is it ever with the
great passions of mankind; and we should paint life
but ill if, even in times the most prodigal of romance,
and of the romance of which we most largely avail
ourselves, we did not also describe the mechanism of
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII ^^
those trivial and household springs of mischief which
we see every day at work in our chambers and at our
hearths. It is in these, the lesser intrigues of life, that
we mostly find ourselves at home with the past.
Most cunningly had the Egyptian appealed to Tone's
ruling foible — most dexterously had he applied the
poisoned dart to her pride. He fancied he had arrested
what he hoped, from the shortness of the time she had
known Glaucus, was, at most, but an incipient fancy;
and hastening to change the subject, he now led her to
talk of her brother. Their conversation did not last
long. He left her, resolved not again to trust so much
to absence, but to visit — to watch her — every day.
No sooner had his shadow glided from her presence,
than woman's pride — her sex's dissimulation — de-
serted his intended victim, and the haughty lone burst
into passionate tears.
CHAPTER VII
THE GAY LIFE OF THE POMPEIAN LOUNGER. — A MINIA-
TURE LIKENESS OF THE ROMAN BATHS.
When Glaucus left lone, he felt as if he trod upon
air. In the interview with which he had just been
blessed, he had for the first time gathered from her
distinctly that his love was not unwelcome to, and
would not be unrewarded by, her. This hope filled him
with a rapture for which earth and heaven seemed too
narrow to afford a vent. Unconscious of the sudden
enemy he had left behind, and forgetting not only his
taunts but his very existence, Glaucus passed through
the gay streets, repeating to himself, in the wantonness
of joy, the music of the soft air to which lone had
78 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
listened with such intentness ; and now he entered the
Street of Fortune, with its raised footpath — its houses
painted without, and the open doors admitting the view
of the glowing frescoes within. Each end of the street
was adorned with a triumphal arch: and as Glaucus
now came before the Temple of Fortune, the jutting
portico of that beautiful fane (which is supposed to
have been built by one of the family of Cicero, per-
haps by the orator himself) imparted a dignified and
venerable feature to a scene otherwise more brilliant
than lofty in its character. That temple was one of the
most graceful specimens of Roman architecture. It
was raised on a somewhat lofty podium ; and between
two flights of steps ascending to a platform stood the
altar of the goddess. From this platform another flight
of broad stairs led to the portico, from the height of
whose fluted columns hung festoons of the richest
flowers. On either side the extremities of the temple
were placed statues of Grecian workmanship; and at
a little distance from the temple rose the triumphal
arch crowned with an equestrian statue of Caligula,
which was flanked by trophies of bronze. In the space
before the temple a lively throng was assembled — some
seated on benches and discussing the politics of the em-
pire, some conversing on the approaching spectacle of
the amphitheatre. One knot of young men were laud-
ing a new beauty, another discussing the merits of the
last play; a third group, more stricken in age, were
speculating on the chance of the trade with Alexandria,
and amidst these were many merchants in the Eastern
costume, whose loose and peculiar robes, painted and
gemmed slippers, and composed and serious counte-
nances,- formed a striking contrast to the tuniced forms
and animated gestures of the Italians. For that impa-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 79
tient and lively people had, as now, a language distinct
from speech — a language of signs and motions, inex-
pressibly significant and vivacious: their descendants
retain it, and the learned Jorio hath written a most en-
tertaining work upon that species of hieroglyphical
gesticulation.
Sauntering through the crowd, Glaucus soon found
himself amidst a group of his merry and dissipated
friends.
" Ah ! " said Sallust, " it is a lustrum since I saw
you."
" And how have you spent the lustrum? What new
dishes have you discovered ? "
" I have been scientific," returned Sallust, " and have
made some experiments in the feeding of lampreys ; I
confess I despair of bringing them to the perfection
which our Roman ancestors attained."
" Miserable man ! and why ? "
" Because," returned Sallust, with a sigh, " it is no
longer lawful to give them a slave to eat. I am very
often tempted to make away with a very fa< carptor
(butler) whom I possess, and pop him slily into the
reservoir. He would give the fish a most oleaginous
flavour ! But slaves are not slaves nowadays, and have
no sympathy with their master's interest — or Davus
would destroy himself to oblige me ! "
" What news from Rome ? " said Lepidus as he
languidly joined the group.
" The emperor has been giving a splendid supper to
the senators," answered Sallust.
" He is a good creature," quoth Lepidus ; " they say
he never sends a man away without granting his re-
quest."
" Perhaps he would let me kill a slave for my reser-
voir?" returned Sallust, eagerly.
<<
((
8o THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Not unlikely/' said Glaucus ; " for he who grants a
favour to one Roman, must always do it at the expense
of another. Be sure, that for every smile Titus has
caused, a hundred eyes have wept"
" Long live Titus ! " cried Pansa, overhearing the
emperor's name, as he swept patronisingly through the *
crowd ; " he has promised my brother a quaestorship, be- *
cause he had nm through his fortune."
" And wishes now to enrich himself among the peo-
ple, my Pansa," said Glaucus.
Exactly so," said Pansa.
That is putting the people to some use," said
Glaucus.
" To be sure," returned Pansa. " Well, I must go
and look after the aerarium — it is a little out of repair ; "
and followed by a long train of clients, distinguished
from the rest of the throng by the togas they wore (for
togas, once the sign of freedom in a citizen, were now
the badge of servility to a patron), the sedile fidgeted
fussily away.
" Poor Pansa ! " said Lepidus ; " he never has time
for pleasure. Thank Heaven, I am not an sedile ! "
" Ah, Glaucus ; how are you ? gay as ever ? " said
Clodius, joining the group.
" Are you come to sacrifice to fortune? " said Sallust.
" I sacrifice to her every night," returned the
gamester.
" I do not doubt it. No man has made more vic-
tims ! "
" By Hercules, a biting speech ! " cried Glaucus,
laughing.
" The dog's letter is never out of your mouth,
Sallust," said Clodius angrily : " you are always snarl-
ing.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 8i
" I may well have the dog's letter in my mouth, since,
whenever I play with you, I have the dog's throw in
my hand," returned Sallust.
" Hist ! " said Glaucus, taking a rose from a flower-
g^rl who stood beside.
" The rose is the token of silence," replied Sallust ;
" but I love only to see it at the supper-table."
" Talking of that, Diomed gives a grand feast next
week," said Sallust : " are you invited, Glaucus ? "
" Yes, I received an invitation this morning."
" And I, too," said Sallust, drawing a square piece of
papyrus from his girdle : " I see that he asks us an hour
earlier than usual : an earnest of something sumpt-
uous." *
" Oh ! he is rich as Croesus," said Clodius ; " and his
bill of fare is as long as an epic."
" Well, let us to the baths," said Glaucus, " this is
the time when all the world is there ; and Fulvius, whorm
you admire so much, is going to read us his last ode."
The young men assented readily to the proposal, and
they strolled to the baths.
Although the public thermae, or baths, were insti-
tuted rather for the poorer citizens than the wealthy
(for the last had baths in their own houses), yet, to
the crowds of all ranks who resorted to them, it was a
favourite place for conversation, and for that indolent
lounging so dear to a gay and thoughtless people. The
baths of Pompeii differed, of course, in plan and con-
struction from the vast and complicated thermae of
Rome; and, indeed, it seems that in each city of the
empire there was always some slight modification of
^ The Romans sent tickets of invitation, like the modern,
specifying the hour of the repast ; which, if the intended feast
was to be sumptuous, was earlier than usual.
82 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
arrangement in the general architecture of the public
baths. This mightily puzzles the learned — as if archi-
tects and fashion were not capricious before the nine-
teenth century! Our party entered by the principal
porch in the Street of Fortune. At the wing of the
portico sat the keeper of the baths, with his two boxes
before him, one for the money he received, one for the
tickets he dispensed. Round the walls of the portico
were seats crowded with persons of all ranks; while
others, as the regimen of the physicians prescribed,
were walking briskly to and fro in the portico, stopping
every now and then to gaze on the innumerable notices
of shows, games, sales, exhibitions, which were painted
or inscribed upon the walls. The general subject of
conversation was, however, the spectacle announced in
the amphitheatre; and each new-comer was fastened
upon by a group eager to Tcnow if Pompeii had been
so fortunate as to produce some monstrous criminal,
some happy case of sacrilege or of murder, which would
allow the aediles to provide a man for the jaws of the
lion; all other more common exhibitions seemed dull
and tame, when compared with the possibility of this
fortunate occurrence.
** For my part," said one jolly-looking man, who was
a goldsmith, " I think the emperor, if he is as good as
they say, might have sent us a Jew."
" Why not take one of the new sect of Nazarenes? "
said a philosopher. " I am not cruel ; but an atheist,
one who denies Jupiter himself, deserves no mercy."
" I care not how many gods a man likes to believe
in," said the goldsmith : " but to deny all gods is some-
thing monstrous."
" Yet I fancy," said Glaucus, " that these people are
not absolutely atheists. I am told that they believe in
a God — ^nay, in a future state."
it
i
t(
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 83
" Quite a mistake, my dear Glaucus," said the
philosopher. " I have conferred with them — they
laughed in my face when I talked of Pluto and Hades."
" O ye gods ! " exclaimed the goldsmith in horror ;
are there any of these wretches in Pompeii ? "
I know there are a few : but they meet so privately
that it is impossible to discover who they are."
As Glaucus turned away, a sculptor, who was a great
enthusiast in his art, looked after him admiringly.
** Ah ! " said he, " if we could get him on the arena —
there would be a model for you ! What limbs ! what a
head ! he ought to have been a gladiator ! A subject —
a subject — worthy of our art! Why don't they give
him to the lion ? "
Meanwhile Fulvius, the Roman poet, whom his con-
temporaries declared immortal, and who, but for this
history, would never have been heard of in our neg-
lectful age, came eagerly up to Glaucus. " Oh, my
Athenian, my Glaucus, you have come to hear my ode !
That is indeed an honour ; you, a Greek — to whom the
very language of common life is poetry. How I thank
you. It is but a trifle ; but if I secure your approbation,
perhaps I may get an introduction to Titus. Oh, Glau-
cus ! a poet without a patron is an amphora without a
label; the wine may be good, but nobody will laud it!^
And what says Pythagoras ? — ' Frankincense to the
gods, but praise to man.' A patron, then, is the poet's
priest: he procures him the incense, and obtains him
his believers."
" But all Pompeii is your patron, and every portico
an altar in your praise."
" Ah ! the poor Pompeians are very civil — they love
to honour merit. But they are only the inhabitants of
a petty town — spero meliora! Shall we within? "
84 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Certainly ; we lose time till we hear your poem."
At this instant there was a rush of some twenty per-
sons from the baths into the portico ; and a slave sta-
tioned at the door of a small corridor now admitted the
poet, Glaucus, Clodius, and a troop of the bard's other
friends, into the passage.
" A poor place this, compared with the Roman
thermae ! " said Lepidus, disdainfully.
" Yet is there some taste in the ceiling," said Glau-
cus, who was in a mood to be pleased with everything ;
pointing to the stars which studded the roof.
Lepidus shrugged his shoulders, but was too languid
to reply. They now entered a somewhat spacious
chamber, which served for the purposes of the apody-
terium (that is, a place where the bathers prepared
themselves for their luxurious ablutions). The vaulted
ceiling was raised from a cornice, glowingly coloured
with motley and grotesque paintings ; the ceiling itself
was panelled in white compartments bordered with
rich crimson ; the unsullied and shining floor was paved
with white mosaics, and along the walls were ranged
benches for the accommodation of the loiterers. This
chamber did not possess the numerous and spacious
windows which Vitruvius attributes to his more mag-
nificent frigidarium. The Pompeians, as all the south-
ern Italians, were fond of banishing the light of their
sultry skies, and combined in their voluptuous associa-
tions the idea of luxury with darkness. Two windows
of glass * alone admitted the soft and shaded ray ; and
the compartment in which one of these casements was
1 The discoveries at Pompeii have controverted the long-
established error of the antiquaries, that glass windows were
unknown to the Romans — the use of them was not, however,
common among the middle and inferior classes in their pri-
vate dwellings.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 85
placed were adorned with a large relief of the de-
struction of the Titans.
In this apartment Fulvius seated himself with a mag-
isterial air, and his audience gathering round him,
encouraged him to commence his recital.
The poet did not require much pressing. He drew
forth from his vest a roll of papyrus, and after hem-
ming three times, as much to command silence as to
clear his voice, he began that wonderful ode, of which,
to the great mortification of the author of this history,
no single verse can be discovered.
By the plaudits he received, it was doubtless worthy
of his fame ; and Glaucus was the only listener who
did not find it excel the best odes of Horace.
The poem concluded, those who took only the cold
bath began to undress ; they suspended their garments
on hooks fastened in the wall, and receiving, accord-
ing to their condition, either from their own slaves or
those of the thermae, loose robes in exchange, withdrew
into that graceful and circular building which yet ex-
ists, to shame the unlaving posterity of the south.
The more luxurious departed by another door to the
tepidarium, a place which was heated to a voluptuous
warmth, partly by a movable fireplace, principally by a
suspended pavement, beneath which was conducted the
caloric of the laconicum.
Here this portion of the intended bathers, after un-
robing themselves, remained for some time enjoying the
artificial warmth of the luxurious air. And this room,
as befitted its important rank in the long process of
ablution, was more richly and elaborately decorated
than the rest. The arched roof was beautifully carved
and painted ; the windows above, of ground glass, ad-
mitted but wandering and uncertain rays; below the
86 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
massive cornices were rows of figures in massive and
bold relief; the walls glowed with crimson, the pave-
ment was skilfully tesselated in white mosaics. Here
the habituated bathers, men who bathed seven times a
day, would remain in a state of enervate and speech-
less lassitude, either before or (mostly) after the wa-
ter-bath ; and many of these victims of the pursuit of
health turned their listless eyes on the new-comers,
recognising their friends with a nod, but dreading the
fatigue of conversation.
From this place the party again diverged, according
to their several fancies, some to the sudatorium, which
answered the purpose of our vapour-baths, and thence
to the warm-bath itself ; those more accustomed to ex-
ercise, and capable of dispensing with so cheap a pur-
chase of fatigue, resorted at once to the calidarium, or
water-bath.
In order to complete this sketch, and give to the
reader an adequate notion of this, the main luxury of
the ancients, we will accompany Lepidus, who regu-
larly underwent the whole process, save only the cold-
bath, which had gone lately out of fashion. Being
then gradually warmed in the tepidarium, which has
just been described, the delicate steps of the Pompeian
elegant were conducted to the sudatorium. Here let
the reader depict to himself the gradual process of the
vapour-bath, accompanied by an exhalation of spicy
perfumes. After our bather had undergone this opera-
tion, he was seized by his slaves, who always awaited
him at the baths, and the dews of heat were removed
by a kind of scraper, which (by the way) a modern
traveller has gravely declared to be used only to re-
move the dirt, not one particle of which could ever
settle on the polished skin of the practised bather.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 87
Thence, somewhat cooled, he passed into the water-
bath, over which fresh perfumes were profusely scat'
tered, and on emerging from the opposite part of the
room, a cooling shower played over his head and form.
Then wrapping himself in a light robe, he returned
once more to the tepidarium, where he found Glaucus,
who had not encountered the sudatorium ; and now, the
main delight and extravagance of the bath commenced.
Their slaves anointed the bathers from vials of gold,
of alabaster, or of crystal, studded with profusest gems,
and containing the rarest unguents gathered from all
quarters of the world. The number of these smegmata
used by the wealthy would fill a modem volume — es-
pecially if the volume were printed by a fashionable
publisher : Amoracinum, Megalium, Nardum — omne
quod exit in um: — ^while soft music played in an ad-
jacent chamber, and such as used the bath in modera-
tion, refreshed and restored by the grateful ceremony,
conversed with all the zest and freshness of rejuve-
nated life.
" Blessed be he who invented baths ! " said Glaucus,
stretching himself along one of those bronze seats (then
covered with soft cushions) which the visitor to Pom-
peii sees at this day in that same tepidarium. " Whether
he were Hercules or Bacchus, he deserved deification.*'
" But tell me," said a corpulent citizen, who was
groaning and wheezing under the operation of being
rubbed down, " tell me, O Glaucus ! — evil chance to
thy hands, O slave! why so rough? — tell me — ugh —
ugh f — are the baths at Rome really so magnificent ? "
Glaucus turned, and recognised Diomed, though not
without some difficulty, so red and so inflamed were
the good man's cheeks by the sudatory and the scraping
he had so lately undergone. " I fancy they must be a
88 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
great deal finer than these. Eh ? " Suppressing a
smile, Glaucus replied —
** Imagine all Pompeii converted into baths, and you
will then form a notion of the size of the imperial,
thermae of Rome. But a notion of the size only. Im-
agine every entertainment for mind and body — enumer-
ate all the gymnastic games our fathers invented —
repeat all the books Italy and Greece have produced —
suppose places for all these games, admirers for all
these works — add to this, baths of the vastest size, the
most complicated construction — ^intersperse the whole
with gardens, with theatres, with porticoes, with
schools — suppose, in one word, a city of the gods, com-
posed but of palaces and public edifices, and you may
form some faint idea of the glories of the great baths
of Rome."
" By Hercules ! " said Diomed, opening his eyes,
** why, it would take a man's whole life to bathe f "
" At Rome it often does so," replied Glaucus,
gravely. " There are many who live only at the baths.
They repair there the first hour in which the doors are
opened, and remain till that in which the doors are
closed. They seem as if they knew nothing of the rest
of Rome, as if they despised all other existence."
" By Pollux ! you amaze me."
'* Even those who bathe only thrice a day contrive to
consume their lives in this occupation. They take their
exercise in the tennis-court or the porticoes, to prepare
them for the first bath ; they Jounge into the theatre, to
refresh themselves after it. They take their prandium
under the trees, and think over their second bath. By
the time it is prepared, the prandium is digested. From
the second bath they stroll into one of the peristyles,
to hear some new poet recite; or into the library, to
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 89
sleep over an old one. Then comes the supper, which
they still consider but a part of the bath ; and then a
third time they bathe again, as the best place to con-
verse with their friends/'
" Per Hercle ! but we have their imitators at
Pompeii."
*' Yes, and without their excuse. The magnificent
voluptuaries of the Roman baths are happy; they see
nothing but gorgeousness and splendour ; they visit not
the squalid parts of the city ; they know not that there
is poverty in the world. All Nature smiles for them,
and her only frown is the last one which sends them to
bathe in Cocytus. Believe me, they are your only true
philosophers."
While Glaucus was thus conversing, Lepidus, with
closed eyes and scarce perceptible breath, was under-
going all the mystic operations, not one of which he
ever suffered his attendants to omit. After the per-
fumes and the unguents, they scattered over him the
luxurious powder which prevented any farther acces-
sion of heat : and this being rubbed away by the smooth
surface of the pumice, he began to indue, not the gar-
ments he had put off, but those more festive ones termed
" the synthesis," with which the Romans marked their
respect for the coming ceremony of supper, if rather,
from its hour (three o'clock in our measurement of
time), it might not be more fitly denominated dinner.
This done, he at length opened his eyes and gave signs
of returning life.
At the same time, too, Sallust betokened by a long
yawn the evidence of existence.
" It is supper time," said the epicure ; " you, Glaucus
and Lepidus, come and sup with me."
Recollect you are all three engaged to my house
«
90 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
next week," cried Diomed, who was mightily proud of
the acquaintance of men of fashion.
" Ah, ah ! we recollect," said Sallust : " the seat of
memory, my Diomed, is certainly in the stomach."
Passing now once again into the cooler air, and so
into the street, our gallants of that day concluded the
ceremony of a Pompeian bath.
CHAPTER VIII
ARBACES COGS HIS DICE WITH PLEASURE, AND WINS
THE GAME.
The evening darkened over the restless city as
Apaecides took his way to the house of the Egyptian.
He avoided the more lighted and populous streets ; and
as he strode onward with his head buried in his bosom,
and his arms folded within his robe, there was some-
thing startling in the contrast, which his solemn mien
and wasted form presented to the thoughtless brows
and animated air of those who occasionally crossed his
path.
At length, however, a man of a more sober and staid
demeanour, and who had twice passed him with a
curious but doubting look, touched him on the
shoulder.
" Apaecides ! " said he, and he made a rapid sign with
his hands : it was the sign of the cross.
" Well, Nazarene," replied the priest, and his pale
face grew paler ; " what wouldst thou ? "
" Nay," returned the stranger, " I would not inter-
rupt thy meditations ; but the last time we met I seemed
not to be so unwelcome."
" You are not unwelcome, Olinthus ; but I am sad and
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 91
weary : nor am I able this evening to discuss with you
those themes which are most acceptable to you."
" O backward of heart ! " said Olinthus, with bitter
fervour ; ** and art thou sad and weary, and wilt thou
turn from the very springs that refresh and heal?"
" O earth ! " cried the young priest, striking his
breast passionately, " for what regions shall my eyes
open to the true Olympus, where thy gods really dwell ?
Am I to believe with this man, that none whom for so
many centuries my fathers worshipped have a being
or a name? Am I to break down, as something
blasphemous and profane, the very altars which I have
deemed most sacred ? or am I to think with Arbaces —
what?"
He paused and strode rapidly away in the impatience
of a man who strives to get rid of himself. But the
Nazarene was one of those hardy, vigorous, and en-
thusiastic men, by whom God in all times has worked
the revolutions of earth, and those, above all, in the
establishment and in the reformation of His own re-
ligion;— men who were formed to convert, because
formed to endure. It is men of this mould whom noth-
ing discourages, nothing dismays; in the fervour of
belief they are inspired and they inspire. Their rea-
son first kindles their passion, but the passion is the
instrument they use ; they force themselves into men's
hearts, while they appear only to appeal to their judg-
ment. Nothing is so contagious as enthusiasm; it is
the real allegory of the tale of Orpheus — it moves
stones, it charms brutes. Enthusiasm is the genius
of sincerity, and truth accomplishes no victories with-
out it.
Olinthus did not then suffer Apsecides thus easily
to escape him. He overtook and addressed him
thus : —
92 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" I do not wonder, Apaecides, that I distress you ;
that I shake all the elements of your mind; that you
are lost in doubt ; that you drift here and there in the
vast ocean of uncertain and benighted thought. I won-
der not at this, but bear with me a little; watch and
pray, — the darkness shall vanish, the storm sleep, and
God Himself, as He came of yore on the sea of Gali-
lee, shall walk over the lulled billows, to the delivery
of your soul. Ours is a religion jealous in its de-
mands, but how infinitely prodigal in its gifts! It
troubles you for an hour, it repays you by immor-
tality."
" Such promises," said Apaecides, sullenly, " are the
tricks by which man is ever gulled. Oh, glorious were
the promises which led me to the shrine of Isis ! "
" But," answered the Nazarene, " ask thy reason,
can that religion be sound which outrages all mo-
rality? You are told to worship your gods. What
are those gods, even according to yourselves? What
their actions, what their attributes? Are they not all
represented to you as the blackest of criminals? yet
you are asked to serve them as the holiest of divinities.
Jupiter himself is a parricide and an adulterer. What
are the meaner deities but imitators of his vices ? You
are told not to murder, but you worship murderers;
you are told not to commit adultery, and you make
your prayers to an adulterer. Oh ! what is this but a
mockery of the holiest part of man's nature, which is
faith? Turn now to the God, the one, the true God,
to whose shrine I would lead you. If He seem to you
too sublime, too shadowy, for those human associa-
tions, those touching connections between Creator and
creature, to which the weak heart clings — contemplate
Him in his Son, who put on mortality like ourselves.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 93
His mortality is not indeed declared, like that of your
fabled gods, by the vices of our nature, but by the prac-
tide of all its virtues. In Him are united the austerest
morals with the tenderest affections. If He were but
a mere man, He had been worthy to become a god.
You honour Socrates — ^he has his sect, his disciples, his
schools. But what are the doubtful virtues of the
Athenian, to the bright, the undisputed, the active, the
uriceasing, the devoted holiness of Christ? I speak
to you now only of His human character. He came
in that as the pattern of future ages, to show us the
form of virtue which Plato thirsted to see embodied.
This was the true sacrifice that He made for man ; but
the halo that encircled His dying hour not only bright-
ened earthy but opened to us the sight of heaven ! You
are touched — ^you are moved. God works in your
heart. His Spirit is with you. Come, resist not the
holy impulse; come at once — unhesitatingly. A few
of us are now assembled to expound the word of God.
Come, let me guide you to them. You are sad, you
are weary. Listen, then, to the words of God — ' Come
to me,' saith He; * all ye that are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest ! ' "
" I cannot now," said Apaecides ; " another time."
" Now — ^now ! " exclaimed Olinthus, earnestly, and
clasping him by the arm.
But Apaecides, yet unprepared for the renunciation
of that faith — ^that life, for which he had sacrificed so
much, and still haunted by the promises of the Egyp-
tian, extricated himself forcibly from the grasp; and
feeling an effort necessary to conquer the irresolution
which the eloquence of the Christian had begun to ef-
fect in his heated and feverish mind, he gathered up
his robes and fled away with a speed that defied pur-
suit.
94 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Breathless and exhausted, he arrived at last in a re-
mote and sequestered part of the city, and the lone
house of the Egyptian stood before him. As he
paused to recover himself, the moon emerged from a
silver cloud, and shone full upon the walls of that mys-
terious habitation.
No other Louse was near — ^the darksome vines clus-
tered far and wide in front of the building, and behind
it rose a copse of lofty forest trees, sleeping in the
melancholy moonlight; beyond stretched the dim out-
line of the distant hills, and amongst them the, quiet
crest of Vesuvius, not then so lofty as the traveller
beholds it now.
Apaecides passed through the arching vines, and ar-
rived at the broad and spacious portico. Before it, on
either side of the steps, reposed the image of the Egyp-
tian sphinx, and the moonlight gave an additional and
yet more solemn calm to those large, and harmonious,
and passionless features, in which the sculptors of that
type of wisdom united so much of loveliness with awe ;
half-way up the extremities of the steps darkened the
green and massive foliage of the aloe, and the shadow
of the eastern palm cast its long and unwaving boughs
partially over the marble surface of the stairs.
Something there was in the stillness of the place,
and the strange aspect of the sculptured sphinxes,
which thrilled the blood of the priest with a nameless
and ghostly fear, and he longed even for an echo to
his noiseless steps as he ascended to the threshold.
He knocked at the door, over which was wrought
an inscription in characters unfamiliar to his eyes; it
opened without a sound, and a tall Ethiopian slave,
without question or salutation, motioned to him to pro-
ceed.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 95
The wide hall was lighted by lofty candelabra of
elaborate bronze, and round the walls were wrought
vast hieroglyphics, in dark and solemn colours, which
contrasted strangely with the bright hues and grace-
ful shapes with which the inhabitants of Italy decorat-
ed their abodes. At the extremity of the hall, a slave,
whose countenance, though not African, was darker
by many shades than the usual colour of the south,
advanced to meet him.
" I seek Arbaces," said the priest ; but his voice trem-
bled even in his own ear. The slave bowed his head
in silence, and leading Apaecides to a wing without the
hall, conducted him up a narrow staircase, and then
traversing several rooms, in which the stern and
thoughtful beauty of the sphinx still made the chief
and most impressive object of the priest's notice, Apae-
cides found himself in a dim and half-lighted cham-
ber, in the presence of the Egyptian.
Arbaces was seated before a small table, on which lay
unfolded several scrolls of papyrus, impressed with the
same character as that on the threshold of the man-
sion. A small tripod stood at a little distance, from
the incense in which the smoke slowly rose. Near this
was a vast globe, depicting the signs of heaven; and
upon another table lay several instruments, of curious
and quaint shape, whose uses were unknown to Apae-
cides. The farther extremity of the room was con-
cealed by a curtain, and the oblong window in the roof
admitted the rays of the moon, mingling sadly with
the single lamp which burned in the apartment.
" Seat yourself, Apaecides," said the Egyptian, with-
out rising.
The young man obeyed.
"You ask me/' resumed Arbaces, after a short
96 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
pause, in which he seemed absorbed in thought, —
" You ask me, or would do so, the mightiest secrets
which the soul of man is fitted to receive: it is the
enigma of life itself that you desire me to solve. Placed
like children in the dark, and but for a little while,
in this dim and confined existence, we shape out spec-
tres in the obscurity ; our thoughts now sink back into
ourselves in terror, now wildly plunge themselves into
the guileless gloom, guessing what it may contain; —
stretching our helpless hands here and there, lest,
blindly, we stumble upon some hidden danger; not
knowing the limits of our boundary, now feeling them
suffocate us with compression, now seeing them ex-
tend far away till they vanish into eternity. In this
state all wisdom consists necessarily in the solution of
two questions — ' What are we to believe ? and what
are we to reject? ' These questions you desire to de-
cide?"
Apaecides bowed his head in assent.
" Man must have some belief," continued the Egyp-
tian, in a tone of sadness. " He must fasten his hope
to something: it is our common nature that you in-
herit when, aghast and terrified to see that in which
you have been taught to place your faith swept away,
you float over a dreary and shoreless sea of incertitude,
you cry for help, you ask for some plank to cling to,
some land, however dim and distant, to attain. Well,
then, listen. You have not forgotten our conversation
of to-day ? "
" Forgotten ! "
" I confessed to you that those deities for whom
smoke so many altars were but inventions. I con-
fessed to you that our rites and ceremonies were but
mummeries, to delude and lure the herd to their proper
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 97
good. I explained to> you that from those delusions
came the bonds of society, the harmony of the world,
the power of the wise ; that power is in the obedience
of the vulgar. Continue we then these salutary de-
lusions— if man must have some belief, continue to
him that which his fathers have made dear to him, and
which custom sanctifies and strengthens. In seeking
a subtler faith for us^ whose senses are too spiritual
for the gross one, let us leave others that support
which crumbles from ourselves. This is wise — it is
benevolent."
" Proceed."
" This being settled," resumed the Egyptian, " the
old landmarks being left uninjured for those whom
we are about to desert, we gird up our loins and depart
to new climes of faith. Dismiss at once from your
recollection, from your thought, all that you have be-
lieved before. Suppose the mind a blank, an unwritten
scroll, fit to receive impressions for the first time.
Look round the world — observe its order — its regu-
larity— its design. Something must have created it —
the design speaks a designer : in that certainty we first
touch land. But what is that something? — ^A god, you
cry. Stay — no confused and confusing names. Of
that which created the world, you know, we can know,
nothing, save these attributes — ^power and unvarying
regularity ; — stern, crushing, relentless regularity —
heeding no individual cases — rolling — sweeping —
burning on ; — ^no matter what scattered hearts, severed
from the general mass, fall ground and scorched be-
neath its wheels. The mixture of evil with good — the
existence of suffering and of crime — in all times have
perplexed the wise. They created a god — they sup-
posed him benevolent. How then came this evil? —
7
98 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
why did he permit — nay, why invent, why perpetuate
it? To account for this, the Persian creates a second
spirit, whose nature is evil, and supposes a continual
war between that and the god of good. In our own
shadowy and tremendous Typhon, the Egyptians im-
age a similar demon. Perplexing blunder that yet
more bewilders us — folly that arose from the vain de-
lusion that makes a palpable, a corporeal, a human
being, of this unknown power — that clothes the In-
visible with attributes and a nature similar to the Seen.
No : to this designer let us give a name that does not
command our bewildering associations, and the mys-
tery becomes more clear — that name is Necessity.
Necessity, say the Greeks, compels the gods. Then
why the gods? — their agency becomes unnecessary —
dismiss them at once. Necessity is the ruler of all we
see; — ^power, regularity — these two qualities make its
nature. Would you ask more? — you can learn noth-
ing: whethei* it be eternal — whether it compel us, its
creatures, to new careers after that darkness which we
call death — we cannot tell. There leave *we this an-
cient, unseen, unfathomable power, and come to that
which, to our eyes, is the great minister of its func-
tions. This we can task more, from this we can learn
more : its evidence is around us — its name is Nature.
The error of the sages has been to direct their re-
searches to the attributes of necessity, where all is
gloom and blindness. Had they confined their re-
searches to Nature — ^what of knowledge might we not
already have achieved? Here patience, examination,
are never directed in vain. We see what we explore ;
our minds ascend a palpable ladder of causes and ef-
fects. Nature is the great agent of the external uni-
verse, and Necessity imposes upon it the laws by which
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 99
it acts, and imparts to us the powers by which we
examine; those powers are curiosity and memory —
their union is reason, their perfection is wisdom. Well,
then, I examine by the help of these powers this in-
exhaustible Nature. I examine the earth, the air, the
ocean, the heaven : I find that all have a mystic sympa-
thy with each other — that the moon sways the tides —
that the air maintains the earth, and is the medium
of the life and sense of things — that by the knowledge
of the stars we measure the limits of the earth — that
we portion out the epochs of time — that by their pale
light we are guided into the abyss of the past — that
in their solemn lore we discern the destinies of the
future. And thus, while we know not that which
Necessity is, we learn, at least, her decrees. And now,
what morality do we glean from this religion? — for
religion it is. I believe in two deities, Nature and
Necessity ; I worship the last by reverence, the first by
investigation. What is the morality my religion
teaches? This — all things are subject but to general
rules ; the sun shines for the joy of the many — it may
bring sorrow to the few ; the night sheds sleep on the
multitude — but it harbours murder as well as rest ; the
forests adorn the earth — ^but shelter the serpent and
the lion ; the ocean supports a thousand barks — ^but it
engulfs the one. It is only thus for the general, and
not for the universal benefit that Nature acts, and Ne*-
cessity speeds on her awful course. This is the moral-
ity of the dread agents of the world — it is mine, who
am their creature. I would preserve the delusions of
priestcraft, for they are serviceable to the multitude;
I would impart to man the arts I discover, the sciences
I perfect; I would speed the vast career of civilising
lore : — in this I serve the mass, I fulfil the general law,
100 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
I execute the great moral that Nature preaches. For
myself I claim the individual exception ; I claim it for
the wise — satisfied that my individual actions are noth-
ing in the great balance of good and evil ; satisfied that
the product of my knowledge can give greater bless-
ings to the mass than my desires can operate evil on
the few (for the first can extend to remotest regions
and humanise nations yet unborn), I give to the world
wisdom, to myself freedom. I enlighten the lives of
others, and I enjoy my own. Yes ; our wisdom is eter-
nal, but our life is short ; make the most of it while it
lasts. Surrender thy youth to pleasure, and thy senses
to delight. Soon comes the hour when the wine-cup
is shattered, and the garlands shall cease to bloom.
Enjoy while you may. Be still, O Apaecides', my pupil
and my follower ! I will teach thee the mechanism of
Nature, her darkest and her wildest secrets — the lore
which fools call magic — ^and the mighty mysteries of
the stars. By this shalt thou discharge thy duty to the
mass ; by this shalt thou enlighten thy race. But I will
lead thee also to pleasures of which the vulgar do not
dream ; and the day which thou givest to men shall be
followed by the sweet night which thou surrenderest
to thyself."
As the Egyptian ceased there rose about, around, be-
neath, the softest music that Lydia ever taught, or
Ionia ever perfected. It came like a stream of sound,
bathing the senses unawares; enervating, subduing
with delight. It seemed the melodies of invisible spir-
its, such as the shepherd might have heard in the golden
age, floating through the vales of Thessaly, or in the
noontide glades of Paphos. The words which had
rushed to the lips of Apaecides, in answer to the sophis-
tries of the Egyptian, died tremblingly away. He felt
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII loi
it as a profanation to break upon that enchanted strain
— ^the susceptibility of his excited nature, the Greek
softness and ardour of his secret soul were swayed and
captured by surprise. He sank on the seat with parted
lips and thirsting ear; while in a chorus of voices,
bland and melting as those which waked Psyche in the
halls of love, rose the following song: —
THE HYMN OF EROS
" By the cool banks where soft Cephisus flows,
A voice saird trembling down the waves of air ;
The leaves blushed brighter in the Teian's rose,
The doves couch'd breathless in their summer lair;
While from their hands the purple flowerets fell.
The laughing hours stood listening in the sky;
From Pan's green cave to iEgle's^ haunted cell.
Heaved the charmed earth in one delicious sigh.
' Love, sons of earth ! I am the power of love !
Eldest of all the gods, with Chaos ^ born;
My smile sheds light along the courts above.
My kisses wake the eyelids of the Morn.
* Mine are the stars — there, ever as ye gaze.
Ye meet the deep spell of my haunting eyes;
Mine is the moon — and, mournful if her rays,
*Tis that she lingers where her Carian lies.
•
* The flowers are mine — the blushes of the rose.
The violet-charming Zephyr to the shade;
Mine the quick light that in the Maybeam glows,
And mine the day-dream in the lonely glade.
* Love, sons of earth — for love is earth's soft lore.
Look where ye will^arth overflows with me;
Learn from the waves that ever kiss the shore,
And the winds nestling, on the heaving sea.
1 The fairest of the Naiads. ^ Hesiod.
I02 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
* All teaches love ! ' — The sweet voice, like a dream,
Melted in light; yet still the airs above,
The waving sedges, and the whispering stream.
And the green forest rustling, murmur'd * Love ! ' "
As the voices died away, the Egyptian seized the
hand of Apaecides, and led him, wondering, intoxicat-
ed, yet half-reluctant, across the chamber towards the
curtain at the far end ; and now, from behind that cur-
tain, there seemed to burst a thousand sparkling stars ;
the veil itself, hitherto dark, was now lighted by these
fires behind into the tenderest blue of heaven. It rep-
resented heaven itself — such a heaven, as in the nights
of June might have shone down over the streams of
Castaly. Here and there were painted rosy and aerial
clouds, from which smiled, by the limner's art, faces
of divinest beauty, and on which reposed the shapes
of which Phidias and Apelles dreamed. And the stars
which studded the transparent azure rolled rapidly as
they shone, while the music, that again woke with a
livelier and lighter sound, seemed to imitate the melody
of the joyous spheres.
" Oh ! what miracle is this, Arbaces ? " said Apaecides
in faltering accents. *' After having denied the gods,
art thou about to reveal to me —
inou aDoui lo reveai lo mc "
it
Their pleasures ! " interrupted Arbaces, in a tone
so different from its usual cold and tranquil harmony
that Apaecides started, and thought the Egyptian him-
self transformed; and now, as they neared the cur-
tain, a wild — a loud — an exulting melody burst from
behind its concealment. With that sound the veil was
rent in twain — it parted — it seemed to vanish into air :
and a scene, which no Sybarite ever more than rivalled,
buoke upon the dazzled gaze of the youthful priest. A
vast banquet-room stretched beyond, blazing with
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 103
countless lights, which filled the warm air with the
scents of frankincense, of jasmine, of violets, of myrrh ;
all that the most odorous flowers, all that the most
costly spices could distil, seemed gathered into one
ineffable and ambrosial essence: from the light col-
umns that sprang upwards to the airy roof, hung
draperies of white, studded with golden stars. At the
extremities of the room two fountains cast up a spray,
which, catching the rays of the roseate light, glittered
like countless diamonds. In the centre of the room
as they entered there rose slowly from the floor, to the
sound of unseen minstrelsy, a table spread with all the
viands which sense ever devoted to fancy, and vases
of that lost Myrrhine fabric,^ so glowing in its colours,
so transparent in its material, were crowned with the
exotics of the East. The couches, to which this table
was the centre, were covered with tapestries of azure
and gold ; and from invisible tubes in the vaulted roof
descended showers of fragrant waters, that cooled the
delicious air, and contended with the lamps, as if the
spirits of wave and fire disputed which element could
furnish forth the most delicious odours. And now,
from behind the snowy draperies, trooped such forms
as Adonis beheld when he lay on the lap of Venus.
They came, some with garlands, others with lyres;
they surrounded the youth, they led his steps to the
banquet. They flung the chaplets round him in rosy
chains. The earth — the thought of earth, vanished
from his soul. He imagined himself in a dream, and
suppressed his breath lest he should wake too soon ; the
senses, to which he had never yielded as yet, beat in his
burning pulse, and confused his dizzy and reeling
* Which, however, was possibly the porcelain of China, —
though this is a matter which admits of considerable dispute.
I04 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
sight. And while thus amazed and lost, once again,
but in brisk and Bacchic measures, rose the magic
strain : —
ANACREONTIC
" In the veins of the calix foams and glows
The blood of the mantling vine,
But oh ! in the bowl of Youth there glows
A Lesbian, more divine!
Bright, bright,
As the liquid light.
Its waves through thine eyelids shine!
Fill up, fill up, to the sparkling brim,
The juice of the young Lyaeus;^
The grape is the key that we owe to him
From the gaol of the world to free us.
Drink, drink!
What need to shrink,
When the lamps alone can see us?
Drink, drink, as I quaff from thine eyes
The wine of a softer tree;
Give the smiles to the god of the grape — ^thy sighs.
Beloved one, give to me,
Turn, turn.
My glances burn,
And thirst for a look from thee ! "
As the song ended, a group of three maidens, en-
twined with a chain of starred flowers, and who, while
they imitated, might have shamed the Graces, advanced
towards him in the gliding measures of the Ionian
dance: such as the Nereids wreathed in moonlight on
the yellow sands of the i^gean wave, such as Cytherea
taught her handmaids in the marriage-feast of Psyche
and her son.
1 Name of Bacchus, from x^«, to unbind, to release.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 105
Now approaching, they wreathed their chaplet round
hiis head ; now kneeling, the youngest of the three prof-
fered him the bowl, from which the wine of Lesbos
foamed and sparkled. The youth resisted no more, he
grasped the intoxicating cup, the blood mantled fiercely
through his veins. He sank upon the breast of the
nymph who sat beside him, and turning with swim-
ming eyes to seek for Arbaces, whom he had lost in
the whirl of his emotions, he beheld him seated beneath
a canopy at the upper end of the table, and gazing upon
him with a smile that encouraged him to pleasure. He
beheld him, but not as he had hitherto seen, with dark
and sable garments, with a brooding and solemn brow ;
a robe that dazzled the sight, so studded was its whitest
surface with gold and gems, blazed upon his majestic
form ; white roses, alternated with the emerald and the
ruby, and shaped tiara-like, crowned his raven locks.
He appeared, like Ulysses, to have gained the glory of
a second youth — his features seemed to have exchanged
thought for beauty, and he towered amidst the loveli-
ness that surrounded him, in all the beaming and re-
laxing benignity of the Olympian god.
" Drink, feast, love, my pupil ! " said he ; " blush not
that thou art passionate and young. That which thou
art, thou feelest in thy veins : that which thou shalt be,
survey ! '*
With this he pointed to a recess, and the eyes of Apae-
cides, following the gesture, beheld on a pedestal,
placed between the statues of Bacchus and Idalia, the
form of a skeleton.
" Start not," resumed the Egyptian ; " that friendly
guest admonishes us but of the shortness of life. From
its jaws I hear a voice that summons us to enjoy."
As he spoke, a group of nymphs surrounded the
io6 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
statue; they laid chaplets on its pedestal, and, while
the cups were emptied and refilled at that glowing
board, they sang the following strain : —
BACCHIC HYMNS TO THE IMAGE OF DEATH
I.
" Thou art in the land of the shadowy Host,
Thou that didst drink and love :
By the Solemn River, a gliding ghost.
But thy thought is ours above!
If memory yet can fly,
Back to the golden sky.
And mourn the pleasures lost!
By the ruin'd hall these flowers we lay.
Where thy soul once held its palace;
When the rose to thy scent and sight was gay.
And the smile was in the chalice.
And the cithara's silver voice
Could bid thy heart rejoice
When night eclipsed the day.'*
Here a new group advancing, turned the tide of the
music into a quicker and more joyous strain : —
II.
" Death, death, is the gloomy shore.
Where we all sail —
Soft, soft, thou gliding oar;
Blow soft, sweet gale!
Chain with bright wreaths the Hours;
Victims if all,
Ever, 'mid song and flowers,
Victims should fall!"
Pausing for a moment, yet quicker and quicker
danced the silver- footed music: —
" Since Life's so short, we'll live to laugh,
Ah! wherefore waste a minute!
If youth's the cup we yet can quaff.
Be love the pearl within it ! "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 107
A third band now approached with brimming cups,
which they poured in libation upon that strange altar ;
and once more slow and solemn, rose the changeful
melody : —
III.
" Thou art welcome, Guest of gloom,
From the far and fearful sea!
When the last rose sheds its bloom,
Our board shall be spread with thee!
All hail, dark Guest!
Who hath so fair a plea
Our welcome Guest to be.
As thou, whose solemn hall
At last shall feast us all
In the dim and dismal coast?
Long yet be we the Host!
And thou, Dead Shadow, thou,
All joyless though thy brow,
Thou — ^but our passing Guest!
tf
At this moment, she who sat beside Apaecides sud-
denly took up the song : —
IV.
" Happy is yet our doom,
The earth and the sun are ours!
And far from the dreary tomb
Speed the wings of the rosy Hours —
Sweet is for thee the bowl,
Sweet are thy looks, my love;
I fly to thy tender soul,
As the bird to its mated dove!
Take me, ah, take!
Clasp' d to thy guardian breast.
Soft let me sink to rest:
But wake me — ah, wake!
And tell me with words and sighs.
But more with thy melting eyes^
That my sun is not set —
That the Torch is not quench'd at the Urn,
That we love, and we breathe, and bum,
Tell me — thou lov'st me yet ! "
BOOK II
Lucus tremiscit Tota succusso solo
Nutavit aula, dubia quo pondus daret,
Ac fluctuanti similis. — Seneca: Thyestes, v. 696.
Trembled the grove. Earth quivered; with the shock
Quaked all the nodding hall, as doubtful where
Ponderous to fall, — and heaving like a wave.
CHAPTER I
" A FLASH HOUSE " IN POMPEII — AND THE GENTLEMEN
OF THE CLASSIC RING.
To one of those parts of Pompeii, which were ten-
anted not by the lords of pleasure, but by its minions
and its victims; the haunt of gladiators and prize-
fighters ; of the vicious and the penniless ; of the sav-
age and obscene ; the Alsatia of an ancient city — we are
now transported.
It was a large room that opened at once on the con-
fined and crowded lane. Before the threshold was a
group of men, whose iron and well-strung muscles,
whose short and Herculean necks, whose hardy and
reckless countenances, indicated the champions of the
arena. On a shelf, without the shop, were ranged jars
of wine and oil ; and right over this was inserted in the
wall a coarse painting, which exhibited gladiators
drinking — so ancient and so venerable is the custom of
signs! Within the room were placed several small
108
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII lOQ
tables, arranged somewhat in the modem fashion of
" boxes/' and round these were seated several knots of
men, some drinking, some playing at dice, some at that
more skilful game called " duodecim scriptce,*' which
certain of the blundering learned have mistaken for
chess, though it rather, perhaps, resembled backgam-
mon of the two, and was usually, though not always,
played by the assistance of dice. The hour was in the
early afternoon, and nothing better, perhaps, than that
unseasonable time itself denoted the habitual indolence
of these tavern loungers. Yet, despite the situation of
the house and the character of its inmates, it indicated
none of that sordid squalor which would have charac-
terised a similar haunt in a modem city. The gay dis-
position of all the Pompeians, who sought, at least, to
gratify the sense even where they neglected the mind,
was typified by the gaudy colours which decorated the
walls, and the shapes, fantastic but not inelegant, in
which the lamps, the drinking-cups, the commonest
household utensils, were wrought.
" By Pollux ! " said one of the gladiators, as he
leaned against the wall of the threshold, " the wine
thou sellest us, old Silenus," — ^and as he spoke he
slapped a portly personage on the back, — " is enough
to thin the best blood in one's veins."
The man thus caressingly saluted, and whose bared
arms, white apron, and keys and napkin tucked care-
lessly within his girdle, indicated him to be the host
of the tavern, was already passed into the autumn of his
years ; but his form was still so robust and athletic, that
he might have shamed even the sinewy shapes beside
him, save that the muscles had seeded, as it were, into
flesh, that the cheeks were swelled and bloated, and the
increasing stomach threw into shade the vast and mas-
sive chest which rose above it.
no THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" None of thy scurrilous blusterings with me,"
growled the gigantic landlord, in the gentle semi-roar
of an insulted tiger, " my wine is good enough for a
carcase which shall so soon soak the dust of the
spoliarium." ^
" Croakest thou thus, old raven I " returned the
gladiator, laughing scornfully ; " thou shalt live to
hang thyself with despite when thou seest me win the
palm crown ; and when I get the purse at the amphi-
theatre, as I certainly shall, my first vow to Hercules
shall be to forswear thee and thy vile potations ever-
more."
" Hear to him — hear to this modest Pyrgopolinices !
He has certainly served under Bombochides Clunin-
staridysarchides," ^ cried the host. " Sporus, Niger,
Tetraides, he declares he shall win the purse from you.
Why, by the gods! each of your muscles is strong
enough to stifle all his body, or / know nothing of the
arena ! "
" Ha ! " said the gladiator, colouring with rising
fury, " our lanista would tell a different story."
" What story could he tell against me, vain Lydon ? "
said Tetraides, frowning.
" Or me, who have conquered in fifteen fights ? " said
the gigantic Niger, stalking up to the gladiator.
" Or rne ? " grunted Sporus, with eyes of fire.
" Tush ! " said Lydon, folding his arms, and regard-
ing his rivals with a reckless air of defiance. " The
time of trial will soon come; keep your valour till
then."
^ The place to which the killed or mortally wounded were
dragged from the arena.
2 " Miles Gloriosus," Act I. ; as much as to say, in modem
phrase, " He has served under Bombastes Furioso."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII in
" Ay, do," said the surly host ; " and if I press down
my thumb to save you, may the Fates cut my thread 1 "
" Your rope, you mean," said Lydon, sneeringly :
" here is a sesterce to buy one."
The Titan wine-vender seized the hand extended to
him, and griped it in so stem a vice that the blood
spirted from the fingers' ends over the garments of the
bystanders.
They set up a savage laugh.
" I will teach thee, young braggart, to play the
Macedonian with me ! I am no puny Persian, I war-
rant thee ! What, man ! have I not fought twenty years
in the ring, and never lowered my arms once? And
have I not received the rod from the editor's own hand
as a sign of victory, and as a grace to retirement on my
laurels ? And am I now to be lectured by a boy ? " So
saying, he flung the hand from him in scorn.
Without changing a muscle, but with the same smil-
ing face with which he had previously taunted mine
host, did the gladiator brave the painful grasp he had
undergone. But no sooner was his hand released than,
crouching for one moment as a wild cat crouches, you
might see his hair bristle on his head and beard, and
with a fierce and shrill yell he sprang on the throat of
the giant, with an impetus that threw him, vast and
sturdy as he was, from his balance ; — and down, with
the crash of a falling rock, he fell; — ^while over him
fell also his ferocious foe.
Our host, perhaps, had had no need of the rope so
kindly recommended to him by Lydon, had he re-
mained three minutes longer in that position. But,
summoned to his assistance by the noise 'of his fall, a
woman, who had hitherto kept in an inner apartment,
rushed to the scene of battle. This new ally was in
112 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
herself a match for the gladiator; she was tall, lean,
and with arms that could give other than soft embraces.
In fact, the gentle helpmate of Burbo the wine-seller
had, like himself, fought in the lists ^ — nay, under tjie
emperor's eye. And Burbo himself — Burbo, the un-
conquered in the field, according to report, now and
then yielded the palm to his soft Stratonice. This
sweet creature no sooner saw the imminent peril that
awaited her worse half, than without other weapons
than those with which Nature had provided her, she
darted upon the incumbent gladiator, and, clasping him
round the waist with her long and snake-like arms,
lifted him by a sudden wrench from the body of her
husband, leaving only his hands still clinging to the
throat of his foe. So have we seen a dog snatched by
the hind legs from the strife with a fallen rival in the
arms of some envious groom ; so have we seen one half
of him high in air — passive and offenceless — while the
other half, head, teeth, eyes, claws, seemed buried and
engulfed in the mangled and prostrate enemy. Mean-
while the gladiators, lapped, and pampered, and glutted
upon blood, crowded delightedly round the combatants
— their nostrils distended— their lips grinning — their
eyes gloatingly fixed on the bloody throat of the one
and the indented talons of the other.
'* Habet! (he has got it!) habet!" cried they, with
a sort of yell, rubbing their nervous hands.
'" Non habeo, ye liars ; I have not got it ! " shouted
the host, as with a mighty effort he wrenched himself
from those deadly hands, and rose to his feet, breath-
less, panting, lacerated, bloody; and fronting, with
1 Not only did women sometimes fight in the amphitheatres,
but even those of noble birth participated in that meek am-
bition.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 113
reeling eyes, the glaring look and grinning teeth of his
baffled foe, now struggling (but struggling with dis-
dain) in the gripe of the sturdy amazon.
" Fair play ! " cried the gladiators : " one to one ; "
and crowding round Lydon and the woman, they sepa-
rated our pleasing host from his courteous guest.
But Lydon, feeling ashamed at his present position,
and endeavouring in vain to shake off the grasp of the
virago, slipped his hand into his girdle, and drew forth
a short knife. So menacing was his look, so brightly
gleamed the blade, that Stratonice, who was used only
to that fashion of battle which we modems call the
pugilistic, started back in alarm.
" O gods ! " cried she, " the ruffian ! — ^he has con-
cealed weapons! Is that fair? Is that like a gentle-
man and a gladiator? No, "indeed, I scorn such fel-
lows." With that she contemptuously turned her back
on the gladiator, and hastened to examine the condi-
tion of her husband.
But he, as much inured to the constitutional exer-
cises as an English bull-dog is to a contest with a more
gentle antagonist, had already recovered himself. The
purple hues receded from the crimson surface of his
cheek, the veins of the forehead retired into their
wonted size. He shook himself with a complacent
grunt, satisfied that he was still alive, and then looking
at his foe from head to foot with an air of more appro-
bation than he had ever bestowed upon him before —
" By Castor ! " said he, " thou art a stronger fellow
than I took thee for! I see thou art a man of merit
and virtue ; give me thy hand, my hero ! "
" Jolly old Burbo ! " cried the gladiators, applaud-
ing ; " stanch to the backbone. Give him thy hand,
Lydon."
8
((
it
114 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Oh, to be sure," said the gladiator ; " but now I
have tasted his blood, I long to lap the whole."
By Hercules ! " returned the host, quite unmoved,
that is the true gladiator feeling. Pollux! to think
what good training may make a man; why, a beast
could not be fiercer ! "
" A beast ! O dullard ! we beat the beasts hollow ! "
cried Tetraides.
" Well, well," said Stratonice, who was now em-
ployed in smoothing her hair and adjusting her dress,
" if ye are all good friends again, I recommend you to
be quiet and orderly ; for some young noblemen, your
patrons and backers, have sent to say they will come
here to pay you a visit : they wish to see you more at
their ease than at the schools, before they make up their
bets on the great fight at the amphitheatre. So they
always come to my house for that purpose : they know
we only receive the best gladiators in Pompeii — our
society is very select — praised be the gods ! "
" Yes," continued Burbo, drinking off a bowl, or
rather a pail of wine, " a man who has won my laurels
can only encourage the brave. Lydon, drink, my boy ;
may you have an honourable old age like mine ! "
" Come here," said Stratonice, drawing her husband
to her affectionately by the ears, in that caress which
Tibullus has so prettily described — " come here ! "
" Not so hard, she-wolf ! thou art worse than the
gladiator," murmured the huge jaws of Burbo.
" Hist ! " said she, whispering him ; " Calenus has
just stole in, disguised, by the back way. I hope he has
brought the sesterces."
"Ho! ho! I will join him," said Burbo; "mean-
while, I say, keep a sharp eye on the cups — attend to
the score. Let them not cheat thee, wife; they are
a
it
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 115
heroes, to be sure, but then they are arrant rogues:
Cacus was nothing to them."
" Never fear me, fool ! " was the conjugal reply, and
Burbo, satisfied with the dear assurance, strode through
the apartment, and sought the penetralia of his house.
" So these soft patrons are coming to look at our
muscles," said Niger. " Who sent to previse thee of
it, my mistress ? "
" Lepidus. He brings with him Clodius, the surest
better in Pompeii, and the young Greek, Glaucus."
" A wager on a wager," cried Tetraides ; " Clodius
bets on me, for twenty sesterces ! What say you, Ly-
don?"
He bets on me! " said Lydon.
No, on me! *' grunttd Sporus.
Dolts ! do you think he would prefer any of you to
Niger ? " said the athletic, thus modestly naming him-
self.
" Well, well," said Stratonice, as she pierced a huge
amphora for her guests, who had now seated them-
selves before one of the tables, " great men and brave,
as ye all think yourselves, which of you will fight the
Numidian lion in case no malefactor should be found
to deprive you of the option ? "
" I who have escaped your arms, stout Stratonice,"
said Lydon, " might safely, I think, encounter the lion."
" But tell me," said Tetraides, " where is that pretty
young slave of yours — the blind girl, with bright eyes ?
I have not seen her for a long time."
" Oh ! she is too delicate for you, my son of Nep-
tune," ^ said the hostess, " and too nice even for us, I
think. We send her into the town to sell flowers and
sing to the ladies : she makes us more money so than
1 Son of Neptune — ^a Latin phrase for a boisterous, ferocious
fellow.
Ii6 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
she would by waiting on you. Besides, she has often
other employments which lie under the rose."
" Other employments ! " said Niger ; " why, she is
too young for them/'
" Silence, beast ! " said Stratonice ; " you think there
is no play but the Corinthian. If Nydia were twice the
age she is at present, she would be equally fit for Vesta
— poor girl ! "
" But, hark ye, Stratonice," said Lydon ; " how didst
thou come by so gentle and delicate a slave? She were
mote meet for the handmaid of some rich matron of
Rome than for thee."
" That is true," returned Stratonice ; " and some day
or other I shall make my fortune by selling her. How
came I by Nydia, thou askest ? "
" Ay ! "
" Why, thou seest, my slave Staphyla — thou remem-
berest Staphyla, Niger ? "
" Ay, a large-handed wench, with face like a comic
mask. How should I forget her, by Pluto, whose hand-
maid she doubtless is at this moment ! "
" Tush, brute ! — Well, Staphyla died one day, and a
great loss she was to me, and I went into the market
to buy me another slave. But, by the gods ! they were
all grown so dear since I had bought poor Staphyla,
and monev was so scarce, that I was about to leave the
place in despair, when a merchant plucked me by the
robe. ' Mistress,* said he, ' dost thou want a slave
cheap? I have a child to sell — b. bargain. She is but
little, and almost an infant, it is true ; but she is quick
and quiet, docile and clever, sings well, and is of good
blood, I assure you.' * Of what country?' said I.
* Thessalian.' Now I knew the Thessalians were acute
and gentle; so I said I would see the girl. I found her
just as you see her now, scarcely smaller and scarcely
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 117
younger in appearance. . She looked patient and re-
signed enough, with her hands crossed on her bosom,
and her eyes downcast. I asked the merchant his price :
it was moderate, and I bought her at once. The mer-
chant brought her to my house, and disappeared in an
instant. Well, my friends, guess my astonishment
when I found she was blind ! Ha ! ha ! a clever fellow
that merchant ! I ran at once to the magistrates, but
the rogue was already gone from Pompeii. So I was
forced to go home in a very ill humour, I assure you ;
and the poor girl felt the effects of it too. But it was
not her fault that she was blind, for she had been so
from her birth. By degrees, we got reconciled to our
purchase. True, she had not the strength of Staphyla,
and was of very little use in the house, but she could
soon find her way about the town as well as if she had
the eyes of Argus ; and when one morning she brought
us home a handful of sesterces, which she said she had
got from selling some flowers she had gathered in our
poor little garden, we thought the gods had sent her
to us. So from that time we let her go out as she likes,
filling her basket with flowers, which she wreathes into
garlands after the Thessalian fashion, which pleases
the gallants ; and the great people seem to take a fancy
to her, for they always pay her more than they do any
other flower-girl, and she brings all of it home to us,
which is more than any other slave would do. So I
work for myself, but I shall soon afford from her earn-
ings to buy me a second Staphyla ; doubtless, the Thes-
salian kidnapper had stolen the blind girl from gentle
parents.^ Besides her skill in the garlands, she sings
1 The Thessalian slave-merchants were celebrated for pur-
loining persons of birth and education ; they did not always
spare those of their own country. Aristophanes sneers bit-
terly at that people (proverbially treacherous) for their un-
quenchable desire of gain by this barter of flesh.
Il8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
and plays on the cithara, which also brings money, and
lately ^but that is a secret."
" That is a secret ! What ! " cried Lydon, " art thou
turned sphinx ? "
" Sphinx, no ! — why sphinx ? "
" Cease thy gabble, good mistress, and bring us our
meat — I am hungry," said Sporus, impatiently.
" And I, too," echoed the grim Niger, whetting his
knife on the palm of his hand.
The amazon stalked away to the kitchen, and soon
returned with a tray laden with large pieces of meat
half raw : for so, as now, did the heroes of the prize-
fight imagine they best sustained their hardihood and
ferocity; they drew round the table with the eyes of
famished wolves— the meat vanished, the wine flowed.
So leave we those important personages of classic life
to follow the steps of Burbo.
CHAPTER II
TWO WORTHIES.
In the earlier times of Rome the priesthood was a
profession, not of lucre but of honour. It was em-
braced by the noblest citizens — it was forbidden to the
plebeians. Afterwards, and long previous to the pres-
ent date, it was equally open to all ranks ; at least, that
part of the profession which embraced the flamens, or
priests, — not of religion generally, but of peculiar
gods. Even the priest of Jupiter (the Flamen Dialis),
preceded by a lictor, and entitled by his office to the
entrance of the senate, at first the especial dignitary
of the patricians, was subsequently the choice of the
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 119
people. The less national and less honoured deities
were usually served by plebeian ministers; and many
Embraced the profession, as now the Roman Catholic
Christians enter the monastic fraternity, less from the
impulse of devotion than the suggestions of a calcu-
lating poverty. Thus Calenus, the priest of Isis, was
of the lowest origin. His relations, though not his
parents, were freedmen. He had received from them a
liberal education, and from his father a small patri-
mony, which he had soon exhausted. He embraced the
priesthood as a last resource from distress. Whatever
the state emoluments of the sacred profession, which at
that time were probably small, the officers of a popular
temple could never complain of the profits of their
calling. There is no profession so lucrative as that
which practises on the superstition of the multitude.
Calenus had but one surviving relative at Pompeii,
and that was Burbo. Various dark and disreputable
ties, stronger than those of blood, united together their
hearts and interests ; and often the minister of Isis stole
disguised and furtively from the supposed austerity
of his devotions ; — and gliding through the back door
of the retired gladiator, a man infamous alike by vices
and by profession, rejoiced to throw off the last rag of
an hypocrisy which but for the dictates of avarice, his
ruling passion, would at all times have sat clumsily
upon a nature too brutal for even the mimicry of virtue.
Wrapped in one of those large mantles which came
in use among the Romans in proportion as they dis-
missed the toga, whose ample folds well concealed the
form, and in which a sort of hood (attached to it) af-
forded no less a security to the features, Calenus now
sat in the small private chamber of the wine-cellar,
whence a small passage ran at once to that back en-
120 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
trance, with which nearly all the houses of Pompeii
were furnished.
Opposite to him sat the sturdy Burbo, carefully
counting on a table between them a pile of coins which
the priest had just poured from his purse — for purses
were as common then as now, with this difference —
they were usually better furnished !
" You see," said Calenus, " that we pay you hand-
somely, and you ought to thank me for recommending
you to so advantageous a market."
" I do, my cousin, I do," replied Burbo, affection-
ately, as he swept the coins into a leathern receptacle,
which he then deposited in his girdle, drawing the
buckle round his capacious waist more closely than he
was wont to do in the lax hours of his domestic avoca-
tions. " And by Isis, Pisis, and Nisis, or whatever
other gods there may be in Egypt, my little Nydia is a
very Hesperides — ^ garden of gold to me."
" She sings well, and plays like a muse," returned
Calenus ; " those are virtues that he who employs me
always pays liberally."
" He is a god," cried Burbo, enthusiastically ; " every
rich man who is generous deserves to be worshipped.
But come, a cup of wine, old friend : tell me more about
it. What does she do? she is frightened, talks of her
oath, and reveals nothing."
" Nor will I, by my right hand ! I, too, have taken
that terrible oath of secrecy."
" Oath ! what are oaths to men like us ? "
" True, oaths of a common fashion ; but this ! " —
and the stalwart priest shuddered as he spoke. " Yet,"
he continued, in emptying a huge cup of unmixed wine,
" I will own to thee, that it is not so much the oath that
I dread as the vengeance of him who proposed it. By
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 121
the gods ! he is a mighty sorcerer, and could draw my
confession from the moon, did I dare to make it to her.
Talk no more of this. By Pollux ! wild as those ban-
quets are which I enjoy with him, I am never quite at
my ease there. I love, my boy, one jolly hour with
thee, and one of the plain, unsophisticated, laughing
girls that I meet in this chamber, all smoked-dried
though it be, better than whole nights of those mag-
nificent debauches."
" Ho ! sayest thou so ? To-morrow night, please the
gods, we will have then a snug carousal."
" With all my heart," said the priest, rubbing his
hands, and drawing himself nearer to the table.
At this moment they heard a slight noise at the door,
as of one feeling the handle. The priest lowered the
hood over his head.
" Tush ! " whispered the host, '' it is but the blind
girl," as Nydia opened the door and entered the apart-
ment.
" Ho ! girl, and how durst thou ? thou lookest pale, —
thou hast kept late revels. No matter, the young must
be always the young," said Burbo, encouragingly.
The girl made no answer, but she dropped on one of
the seats with an air of lassitude. Her colour went and
came rapidly: she beat the floor impatiently with her
small feet, then she suddenly raised her face, and said
.with a determined voice, —
• " Master, you may starve me if you will, — you may
beat me, — you may threaten me with death, — ^but I
will go no more to that unholy place ! "
" How, fool ! " said Burbo, in a savage voice, and
his heavy brows met darkly over his fierce and blood-
shot eyes ; " how, rebellious ! Take care."
" I have said it," said the poor girl, crossing her
hands on her breast.
122 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" What ! my modest one, sweet vestal, thou wilt go
no more! Very well, thou shalt be carried."
" I will raise the city with my cries," said she, pas-
sionately ; and the colour mounted to her brow.
" We will take care of that too ; thou shalt go
gagged."
" Then may the gods help me ! " said Nydia, rising ;
" I will appeal to the magistrates."
" Thine oath remember! " said a hollow voice, as for
the first time Calenus joined in the dialogue.
At those words a trembling shook the frame of the
unfortunate girl; she clasped her hands imploringly.
" Wretch that I am ! " she cried, and burst violently
into sobs.
Whether or not it was the sound of that vehement
sorrow which brought the gentle Stratonice to the spot,
her grisly form at this moment appeared in the cham-
ber.
" How now ? what hast thou been doing with my
slave, brute? " said she, angrily, to Burbo.
" Be quiet, wife," said he, in a tone half-sullen, half-
timid ; " you want new girdles and fine clothes, do you ?
Well then, take care of your slave, or you may want
them long. Vce capiti tuo — vengeance on thy head,
wretched one ! "
" What is this ? " said the hag, looking from one to
the other.
Nydia started as by a sudden impulse from the wall
against which she had leaned ; she threw herself at the
feet of Stratonice ; she embraced her knees, and look-
ing up at her with those sightless but touching eyes —
" O my mistress ! " sobbed she, " you are a woman —
you have had sisters, — you have been young like me, —
feel for me, — save me! I will go to those horrible
feasts no more ! "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 123
I
" Stuif ! " said the hag, dragging her up rudely by
one of those delicate hands, fit for no harsher labour
than that of weaving the flowers which made her pleas-
ure or her trade ; — " stuff ! these fine scruples are not
for slaves."
" Hark ye," said Burbo, drawing forth his purse, and
chinking its contents ; " you hear this music, wife ; by
Pollux ! if you do not break in yon colt with a tight
rein, you will hear it no more."
" The girl is tired," said Stratonice, nodding to Ca-
lenus ; " she will be more docile when you next want
her."
" You I you! who is here? " cried Nydia, casting her
eyes round the apartment with so fearful and straining
a survey, that Calenus rose in alarm from his seat, —
She must see with those eyes ! " muttered he.
Who is here? Speak, in Heaven's name! Ah, if
you were blind like me, you would be less cruel," said
she ; and she again burst into tears.
" Take her away," said Burbo, impatiently ; " I hate
these whimperings."
" Come ! " said Stratonice, pushing the poor child by
the shoulders.
Nydia drew herself aside, with an air to which reso-
lution gave dignity.
" Hear me," she said ; " I have served you faithfully,
— I, who was brought up — ah! my mother, my poor
mother! didst thou dream I should come to this?"
She dashed the tear from her eyes, and proceeded: —
" Command me in aught else, and I will obey ; but I
tell you now, hard, stern, inexorable as you are, — I tell
you that I will go there no more ; or, if I am forced
there, that I will implore the mercy of the praetor him-
self— I have said it. Hear me, ye gods, I swear I "
«
124 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The- hag's eyes glowed with fire; she seized the child
by the hair with one hand, and raised on high the other
— that formidable right hand, the least blow of which
seemed capable to crush the frail and delicate form
that trembled in her grasp. That thought itself ap-
peared to strike her, for she suspended the blow,
changed her purpose, and dragging Nydia to the wall,
seized from a hook a rope, often, alas! applied to a
similar purpose, and the next moment the shrill, the
agonised shrieks of the blind girl rang piercingly
through the house.
CHAPTER III
GLAUCUS MAKES A PURCHASE THAT AFTERWARDS COSTS
HIM DEAR.
" Holla, my brave fellows ! " said Lepidus, stooping
his head, as he entered the low doorway of the house
of Burbo. " We have come to see which of you most
honours your lanista." The gladiators rose from the
table in respect to three gallants known to be among the
gayest and richest youths of Pompeii, and whose voices
were therefore the dispensers of amphitheatrical repu-
tation.
" What fine animals ! " said Clodius to Glaucus :
**' worthy to be gladiators ! "
" It is a pity they are not warriors," returned Glau-
cus.
A singular thing it was to see the dainty and fas-
tidious Lepidus, whom in a banquet a ray of daylight
seemed to blind, — whom in the bath. a breeze of air
seemed to blast, — in whom Nature seemed twisted and
perverted from every natural impulse, and curdled into
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII . 125
one dubious thing of effeminacy and art ; — a singular
thing was it to see this Lepidus, now all eagerness, and
energy, and life, patting the vast shoulders of the gladi-
ators with a blanched and girlish hand, feeling with a
mincing gripe their great brawn and iron muscles, all
lost in calculating admiration at that manhood which
he had spent his life in carefuUy banishing from him-
self.
So have we seen at this day the beardless flutterers
of the saloons of London thronging round the heroes
of the Fivescourt ; — so have we seen them admire, and
gaze, and calculate a bet ; — so have we seen them meet
together, in ludicrous yet in melancholy assemblage,
the two extremes of civilised society, — the patrons of
pleasure and its slaves — vilest of all slaves — ^at once
ferocious and mercenary; male prostitutes, who sell
their strength as women their beauty ; beasts in act, but
baser than beasts in motive, for the last, at least, do not
mangle themselves for money !
" Ha ! Niger, how will you fight ? " said Lepidus ;
" and with whom ? "
" Sporus challenges me," said the grim giant ; " we
shall fight to the death, I hope."
" Ah ! to be sure," grunted Sporus, with a twinkle
of his small eye.
" He takes the sword, I the net and the trident ; it
will be rare sport. I hope the survivor will have
enough to keep up the dignity of the crown."
" Never fear, we'll fill the purse, my Hector," said
Clodius : " let me see, — you fight against Niger ? Glau-
cus, a bet — I back Niger."
" I told you so," cried Niger exultingly. " The
noble Clodius knows me ; count yourself dead already,
my Sporus."
126 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Clodius took out his tablet. — " A bet, — ^ten sestertia.^
What say you ? "
" So be it," said Glaucus. " But whom have we
here ? I never saw this hero before ; " and he glanced
at Lydon, whose limbs were slighter than those of his
companions, and who had something of grace, and
something even of nobleness, in his face, which his
profession had not yet wholly destroyed.
" It is Lydon, a youngster, practised only with the
wooden sword as yet," answered Niger, condescend-
ingly. " But he has the true blood in him, and has
challenged Tetraides."
" He challenged me/' said Lydon : " I accept the
offer."
" And how do you fight ? " asked Lepidus. " Chut,
my boy, wait a while before you contend with Tet-
raides." Lydon smiled disdainfully.
" Is he a citizen or a slave ? " said Clodius.
A citizen ; — ^we are all citizens here," quoth Niger.
Stretch out your arm, my Lydon," said Lepidus,
with the air of a connoisseur.
The gladiator, with a significant glance at his com-
panions, extended an arm which, if not so huge in its
girth as those of his comrades, was so firm in its mus-
cles, so beautifully symmetrical in its proportions, that
the three visitors uttered simultaneously an admiring
ejtclamation.
" Well, man, what is your weapon ? " said Clodius,
tablet in hand.
" We are to fight first with the cestus ; afterwards,
if both survive, with swords," returned Tetraides,
sharply, and with an envious scowl.
** With the cestus ! " cried Glaucus ; " there you are
* A little more than £80.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 127
wrong, Lydon ; the cestus is the Greek fashion : I know
it well. You should have encouraged flesh for that
contest ; you are far too thin for it — avoid the cestus."
" I cannot," said Lydon,
"And why?"
" I have said — ^because he has challenged me."
" But he will not hold you to the precise weapon."
" My honour holds me ! " returned Lydon, proudly.
" I bet on Tetraides, two to one, at the cestus," said
Clodius ; " shall it be, Lepidus ? — even betting, with
swords."
" If you give me three to one, I will not take the
odds," said Lepidus : " Lydon will never come to the
swords. You are mighty courteous."
What say you, Glaucus ? " said Clodius.
I will take the odds three to one."
Ten sestertia to thirty."
«
" Yes." *
«
Clodius wrote the bet in his book.
" Pardon me, noble sponsor mine," said Lydon, in a
low voice to Glaucus : " but how much think you the
Victor will gain ? "
How much ? why, perhaps seven sestertia."
You are sure it will be as much ? "
At least. But out on you ! — 2l Greek would have
thought of the honour, and not the money. O Italians I
everywhere ye are Italians ! "
A blush mantled over the bronzed cheek of the gladi-
ator.
" Do not wrong me, noble Glaucus ; I think of both,
but I should never have been a gladiator but for the
money."
1 The reader will not confound the sester/« with the sester-
tia. A sestertii* w, which was a sum, not a coin, was a thou-
sand times the value of a sestertius; the first was equivalent
to £8 IS. sHd., the last to id. 3^ farthings of our money.
128 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Base ! mayest thou fall I A miser never was a
hero."
" I am not a miser," said Lydon, haughtily, and he
withdrew to the other end of the room.
" But I don't see Burbo; where is Burbo? I must
talk with Burbo," cried Clodius.
" He is within," said Niger, pointing to the door at
the extremity of the room. ^
" And Stratonice, the brave old lass, where is she ? "
quoth Lepidus.
" Why, she was here just before you entered ; but
she heard something that displeased her yonder, and
vanished. Pollux ! old Burbo had perhaps caught hold
of some girl in the back room. I heard a female's voice
crying out ; the old dame is as jealous as Juno."
" Ho ! excellent ! " cried Lepidus laughing. " Come,
Clodius, let us go shares with Jupiter ; perhaps he has
caught a Leda."
At this moment a loud cry of pain and terror startled
the group.
" Oh, spare me ! spare me ! I am but a child, I am
blind — is not that punishment enough."
" O Pallas ! I know that voice, it is my poor flower-
girl ! " exclaimed Glaucus, and he darted at once into
the quarter whence the cry rose.
He burst the door ; he beheld Nydia writhing in the
grasp of the infuriate hag; the cord, already dabbled
with blood, was raised in the air — ^it was suddenly ar-
rested.
" Fury ! " said Glaucus, and with his left hand he
caught Nydia from her grasp ; " how dare you use thus
a girl — one of your own sex, a child ! My Nydia, my
poor infant ! "
" Oh ! is that you — is that Glaucus ? " exclaimed the
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 129
flower-girl, in a tone almost of transport; the tears
stood arrested on her cheek ; she smiled, she clung to
his breast, she kissed his robe as she clung.
" And how dare you, pert stranger ! interfere be-
tween a free woman and her slave? By the gods!
despite your fine tunic and your filthy perfumes, I doubt
whether you are even a Roman citizen, my mannikin."
" Fair words, mistress — fair words ! " said Clodius,
now entering with Lepidus. "This is my friend and
sworn brother: he must be put under shelter of your
tongue, sweet one ; it rains stones ! "
" Give me my slave ! " shrieked the virago, placing
her mighty grasp on the breast of the Greek.
" Not if all your sister Furies could help you," an-
swered Glaucus. " Fear not, sweet Nydia ; an Athenian
never forsook distress ! "
" Holla ! " said Burbo, rising reluctantly, " what tur-
moil is all this about a slave ? Let go the young gen-
tleman, wife — let him go: for his sake the pert thing
shall be spared this once." So saying he drew, or
rather dragged off his ferocious helpmate.
" Methought when we entered," said Clodius, " there
was another man present?"
" He is gcMie."
For the priest of Isis had indeed thought it high time
to vanish.
" Oh, a friend of mine ! a brother cupman, a quiet
dog, who does not love these snarlings," said Burbo
carelessly. " But go, child, you will tear the gentle-
man's tunic if you cling to him so tight ; go, you are
pardoned."
" Oh, do not — do not forsake me ! " cried Nydia,
clinging yet closer to the Athenian.
Moved by her forlorn situation, her appeal to him,
I30 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
her own innumerable and touching graces, the Greek
seated himself on one of the rude chairs. He held her
on his knees — he wiped the blood from her shoulders
with his long hair — he kissed the tears from her cheeks
— he whispered to her a thousand of those soothing
words with which we calm the grief of a child : — and
so beautiful did he seem in his gentle and consoling
task, that even the fierce heart of Stratonice was
touched. His presence seemed to shed light over that
base and obscene haunt — young, beautiful, glorious, he
was the emblem of all that earth made most happy, com-
forting one that the earth had abandoned !
" Well, who could have thought our blind Nydia had
been so honoured ! " said the virago, wiping her heated
brow.
Glaucus looked up at Burbo.
" My good man," said he, " this is your slave ; she
sings well, she is accustomed to the care of flowers — I
wish to make a present of such a slave to a lady. Will
you sell her to me ? " As he spoke he felt the whole
frame of the poor girl tremble with delight ; she started
up, she put her dishevelled hair from her eyes, she
looked around, as if, alas ! she had the power to see!
" Sell our Nydia ! no, indeed," said Stratonice,
gruffly.
Nydia sank back with a long sigh, and again clasped
the robe of her protector.
" Nonsense ! " said Clodius, imperiously : " you must
oblige me. What, man I what, old dame! offend me
and your trade is ruined. Is not Burbo my kinsman
Pansa's client? Am I not the oracle of the amphi-
theatre and its heroes? If I say the word. Break up
your wine-jars — ^you sell no more. Glaucus, the slave
is yours."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 131
Burbo scratched his huge head, in evident embarrass-
ment.
" This girl is worth her weight in gold to me."
" Name your price — I am rich," said Glaucus.
The ancient Italians were like the modern, there was
nothing they would not sell, much less a poor blind
girl.
" I paid six sestertia for her, she is worth twelve
now," muttered Stratonice.
" You shall have twenty ; come to the magistrates at
once, and then to my house for your money."
" I would not have sold the dear girl for a hundred
but to oblige noble Clodius," said Burbo, whiningly.
** And you will speak to Pansa about the place of desig-
nator at the amphitheatre, noble Clodius? it would just
suit me."
" Thou shalt have it," said Clodius ; adding in a whis-
per to Burbo, " yon Greek can make your fortune ;
money runs through him like a sieve : mark to-day with
white chalk, my Priam."
" An dabis? " said Glaucus, in the formal question of
sale and barter.
Dabitur" answered Burbo.
Then, then, I am to go with you — with you ? O
happiness ! " exclaimed Nydia.
" Pretty one, yes ; and thy hardest task henceforth
shall be to sing thy Grecian hymns to the loveliest lady
in Pompeii."
The girl sprang from his clasp ; a change came over
her whole face, so bright the instant before ; she sighed
heavily, and then once more taking his hand, she said, —
" I thought I was to go to your house ? "
" And so thou shalt for the present ; come, we lose
time."
132 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
CHAPTER IV
THE RIVAL OF GLAUCUS PRESSES ONWARD IN THE RACE.
lone was one of those brilliant characters which but
once or twice flash across our career. She united in the
highest perfection the rarest of earthly gifts — Genius
and Beauty. No one ever possessed superior intel-
lectual qualities without knowing them. The allitera-
tion of modesty and merit is pretty enough, but where
merit is great, the veil of that modesty you admire
never disguises its extent from its possessor. It is the
proud consciousness of certain qualities that it cannot
reveal to the everyday world, that gives to genius that
shy, and reserved, and troubled air, which puzzles and
flatters you when you encounter it.
lone, then, knew her genius ; but, with that charm-
ing versatility that belongs of right to women, she had
the faculty so few of a kindred genius in the less
malleable sex can claim — the faculty to bend and model
her graceful intellect to all whom it encountered. The
sparkling fountain threw its waters alike upon the
strand, the cavern, and the flowers; it refreshed, it
smiled, it dazzled everywhere. That pride which is the
necessary result of superiority, she wore easily, — in her
breast it concentred itself in independence. She pur-
sued thus her own bright and solitary path. She asked
no aged matron to direct and guide her — she walked
alone by the torch of her own unflickering purity.
She obeyed no tyrannical and absolute custom. She
moulded custom to her own will, but this so delicately
and with so feminine a grace, so perfect an exemption
from error that you could not say she outraged cus-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 133
torn but commanded it. The wealth of her graces was
inexhaustible — she beautified the commonest action ; a
word, a look from her, seemed magic. Love her, and
you entered into a new world, you passed from this
trite and commonplace earth. You were in a land in
which your eyes saw everything through an enchanted
medium. In her presence you felt as if listening to ex-
quisite music; you were steeped in that sentiment
which has so little of earth in it, and which music so
well inspires — ^that intoxication which refines and ex-
alts, which seizes, it is true, the senses, but gives them
the character of the soul.
She was peculiarly formed, then, to command and
fascinate the less ordinary and the bolder natures of
men ; to love her was to unite two passions, that of love
and of ambition, — ^you aspired when you adored her.
It was no wonder that she had completely chained and
subdued the mysterious but burning soul of the Egyp-
tian, a man in whom dwelt the fiercest passions. Her
beauty and her soul alike enthralled him.
Set apart himself from the common world, he loved
that daringness of character which also made itself,
among common things, aloof and alone. He did not,
or he would not, see that that very isolation put her yet
more from him than from the vulgar. Far as the poles,
far as the night from day, his solitude was divided
from hers. He was solitarv from his dark and solemn
vices — she from her beautiful fancies and her purity of
virtue.
If it was not strange that lone thus enthralled the
Egyptian, far less strange was it that she had captured,
as suddenly as irrevocably, the bright and sunny heart
of the Athenian. The gladness of a temperament
which seemed woven from the beams of light had led
134 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Glaucus into pleasure. He obeyed no more vicious dic-
tates when he wandered into the dissipations x)f his
time than the exhilarating voices of youth and health.
He threw the brightness of his nature over every abyss
and cavern through which he strayed. His imagina-
tion dazzled him, but his heart never was corrupted.
Of far more penetration than his companions deemed,
he saw they sought to prey upon his riches and his
youth : but he despised wealth save as the means of en-
joyment, and youth was the great sympathy that united
him to them. He felt, it is true, the impulse of nobler
thoughts and higher aims than in pleasure could be in-
dulged: but the world was one vast prison, to which
the Sovereign of Rome was the Imperial gaoler; and
the very virtues, which in the free days ol Athens
would have made him ambitious, in the slavery of earth
made him inactive and supine. For in that unnatural
and bloated civilisation, all that was noble in emulation
was forbidden. Ambition in the regions of a despotic
and luxurious court was but the contest of flattery and
craft. Avarice had become the sole ambition ; men de-
sired praetorships and provinces only as the license to
pillage, and government was but the excuse of rapine.
It is in small states that glory is most active and pure, —
the more confined the limits of the circle, the more ar-
dent the patriotism. In small states, opinion is con-
centrated and strong, — every eye reads your actions —
your public motives are blended with your private
ties, — every spot in your narrow sphere is crowded with
forms familiar since your childhood, — the applause of
your citizens is like the caresses of your friends. But
in large states, the city is but the court ; the provinces
— unknown to you, unfamiliar in customs, perhaps in
/language, — ^have no claim on your patriotism, the an-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 135
cestry of their inhabitants is not yours. In the court
you desire favour instead of glory ; at a distance from
the court, public opinion has vanished from you, and
self-interest has no counterpoise.
Italy, Italy, while I write, your skies are over me —
your seas flow beneath my feet. Listen not to the blind
policy which would unite all your crested cities, mourn-
ing for their republics, into one empire; false, per-
nicious delusion ! your only hope of regeneration is in
division. Florence, Milan, Venice, Genoa, may be free
once more, if each is free. But dream not of freedom
for the whole while you enslave the parts; the heart
must be the centre of the system, the blood must circu-
late freely everywhere; and in vast communities you
behold but a bloated and feeble giant, whose brain is
imbecile, whose limbs are dead, and who pays in disease
and weakness the penalty of transcending the natural
proportions of health and vigour.
Thus thrown back upon themselves, the more ardent
qualities of Glaucus found no vent, save in that over-
flowing imagination which gave grace to pleasure, and
poetry to thought. Ease was less despicable than con-
tention with parasites and slaves, and luxury could yet
be refined though ambition could not be ennobled.
But all that was best and brightest in his soul woke at
once when he knew lone. Here was an empire worthy
of demigods to attain ; here was a glory which the reek-
ing smoke of a foul society could not soil or dim. Love,
in every time, in every state, can thus find space for its
golden altars. And tell me if there ever, even in the
ages most favourable to glory, could be a triumph more
exalted and elating than the conquest of one noble
heart?
And whether it was that this sentiment inspired him,
136 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
his ideas glowed more brightly, his soul seemed more
awake and more visible, in Tone's presence. If natural
to love her, it was natural that she should return the
passion. Young, brilliant, eloquent, enamoured, and
Athenian, he was to her as the incarnation of the poetry
of her father's land. They were not like creatures of
a world in which strife and sorrow are the elements ;
they were like things to be seen only in the holiday of
nature, so glorious and so fresh were their youth, their
beauty, and their love. They seemed out of place in the
harsh and every-day earth ; they belonged of right to
the Saturnian age, and the dreams of demigod and
nymph. It was as if the poetry of life gathered and
fed itself in them, and in their hearts were concentrated
the last ravs of the sun of Delos and of Greece.
But if lone was independent in her choice of life, so
was her modest pride proportionately vigilant and
easily alarmed. The falsehood of the Egyptian was
invented by a deep knowledge of her nature. The
story of coarseness, of indelicacy, in Glaucus, stung her
to the quick. She felt it a reproach upon her charac-
ter and her career, a punishment above all to her love ;
she felt, for the first time, how suddenly she had yielded
to that love; she blushed with shame at a weakness,
the extent of which she was startled to perceive: she
imagined it was that weakness which had incurred the
contempt of Glaucus; she endured the bitterest curse
of noble natures — humiliation! Yet her love, perhaps,
was no less alarmed than her pride. If one moment
she murmured reproaches upon Glaucus — if one mo-
ment she renounced, she almost hated him — at the next
she burst into passionate tears, her heart yielded to its
softness, and she said in the bitterness of anguish, " He
despises me — ^he does not love me."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 137
From the hour the Egyptian had left her she had re-
tired to her most secluded chamber, she had shut out
her handmaids, she had denied herself to the crowds
that besieged her door. Glaucus was excluded with
the rest; he wondered, but he guessed not why! He
never attributed to his lone — ^his queen — his goddess
— that woman-like caprice of which the love-poets of
Italy so unceasingly complain. He imagined her, in
the majesty of her candour, above all the arts that tor-
ture. He was troubled, but his hopes were not dimmed,
for he knew already that he loved and was beloved;
what more could he desire as an amulet against fear ?
At deepest night, then, when the streets were hushed,
and the high moon only beheld his devotions, he stole
to that temple of his heart — her home ; ^ and wooed her
after the beautiful fashion of his country. He covered
her threshold with the richest garlands, in which every
flower was a volume of sweet passion ; and he charmed
the long summer-night with the sound of the Lycian
lute; and verses which the inspiration of the moment
sufficed to weave.
But the window above opened not; no smile made
yet more holy the shining air of night. All was still
and dark. He knew not if his verse was welcome and
his suit was heard.
Yet lone slept not, nor disdained to hear. Those soft
strains ascended to her chamber; they soothed, they
subdued her. While she listened, she believed nothing
against her lover; but when they were stilled at last,
and his step departed, the spell ceased ; and, in the bit-
terness of her soul, she almost conceived in that delicate
flattery a new affront.
1 Athenaeus — " The true temple of Cupid is the house of the
beloved one."
138 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
I said she was denied to all ; but there was one excep-
tion ; there was one person who would not be denied,
assuming over her actions and her house something
like the authority of a parent; Arbaces, for himself,
claimed an exemption from all the ceremonies observed
by others. He entered the threshold with the license
of one who feels that he is privileged and at home. He
made his way to her solitude, and with that sort of
quiet and unapologetic air which seemed to consider
the right as a thing of course. With all the independ-
ence of lone's character, his heart had enabled him to
obtain a secret and powerful control over her mind.
She could not shake it off ; sometimes she desired to do
so; but she never actively struggled against it. She
was fascinated by his serpent eye. He arrested, he
commanded her, by the magic of a mind long accus-
tomed to awe and to subdue. Utterly unaware of his
real character or his hidden love, she felt for him the
reverence which genius feels for wisdom, and virtue
for sanctity. She regarded him as one of those mighty
sages of old who attained to the mysteries of knowl-
edge by an exemption from the passions of their kind.
She scarcely cotisidered him as a being, like herself, of
the earth, but as an oracle at once dark and sacred. She
did not love him, but she feared. His presence was
unwelcome to her; it dimmed her spirit even in its
brightest mood ; he seemed, with his chilling and lofty
aspect, like some eminence which casts a shadow over
the sun. But she never thought of forbidding his visits.
She was passive under the influence which created in
her breast, not the repugnance, but something of the
stillness of terror. Arbaces himself now resolved to
exert all his arts to possess himself of that treasure he
so burningly coveted. He was cheered and elated by
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 139
his conquests over her brother. From the hour in
which Apaecides fell beneath the voluptuous sorcery of
that fete which we have described, he felt his empire
over the young priest triumphant and insured. He
knew that there is no victim so thoroughly subdued as
a young and fervent man for the first time delivered to
the thraldom of the senses.
When Apaecides recovered, with the morning light,
from the profound sleep which succeeded to the de-
lirium of wonder and of pleasure, he was, it is true,
ashamed — terrified — appalled. His vows of austerity
and celibacy echoed in his ear ; his thirst after holiness
— ^had it been quenched at so unhallowed a stream?
But Arbaces knew well the means by which to confirm
his conquest. From the arts of pleasure he led the
young priest at once to those of his mysterious wis-
dom. He bared to his amazed eyes the initiatory se-
crets of the sombre philosophy of the Nile — those
secrets plucked from the stars, and the wild chemistry,
which, in those days, when Reason herself was but the
creature of Imagination, might well pass for the lore
of a diviner magic. He seemed to the young eyes of
the priest as a being above mortality, and endowed
with supernatural gifts. That yearning and intense de-
sire for the knowledge which is not of earth — which
had burned from his boyhood in the heart of the priest
— ^was dazzled, until it confused and mastered his
clearer sense. He gave himself to the art which thus
addressed at once the two strongest of human passions
— ^that of pleasure and that of knowledge. He was
loth to believe that one so wise could err, that one so
lofty could stoop to deceive. Entangled in the dark
web of metaphysical moralities, he caught at the ex-
cuse by which the-Egyptian converted vice into a vir-
140 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
tue. His pride was insensibly flattered that Arbaces
had deigned to rank him with himself, to set him apart
from the laws which bound the vulgar, to make him
an august participator, both in the mystic studies and
the magic fascinations of the Egyptian's solitude. The
pure and stem lessons of that creed to which Olinthus
had sought to make him convert, were swept away from
his memory by the deluge of new passions. And the
Egyptian, who was versed in the articles of that true
faith, and who soon learned from his pupil the effect
which had been produced upon him by its believers,
sought, not unskilfully, to undo that effect, by a tone
of reasoning half-sarcastic and half-earnest.
" This faith," said he, " is but a borrowed plagiarism
from one of the many allegories invented by our priests
of old. Observe," he added, pointing to a hieroglyphi-
cal scroll, — " observe in these ancient figures the origin
of the Christian's Trinity. Here are also three gods —
the Deity, the Spirit, and the Son. Observe, that the
epithet of the Son is * Saviour,' — observe, that the sign
by which his human qualities are denoted is the cross.^
Note here, too, the mystic history of Osiris: how he
put on death ; how he lay in the grave ; and how, thus
fulfilling a solemn atonement, he rose again from the
dead ! In these stories we but design to paint an al-
legory from the operations of nature and the evo-
lutions of the eternal heavens. But the allegory
unknown, the types themselves have furnished to
credulous nations the materials of many creeds. They
have travelled to the vast plains of India; they have
mixed themselves up in the visionary speculations of
the Greek: becoming more and more gross and em-
1 The believer will draw from this vague coincidence a very
different corollary from that of the Egyptian.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 141
bodied, as they emerge farther from the shadows of
their antique origin, they have assumed a human and
palpable form in this novel faith ; and the believers of
Galilee are but the unconscious repeaters of one of the
superstitions of the Nile."
This was the last argument which completely sub-
dued the priest. It was necessary to him, as to all, to
believe in something; and undivided and, at last, un-
reluctant, he surrendered himself to that belief which
Arbaces inculcated, and which all that was human in
passion — all that was flattering in vanity — all that was
alluring in pleasure, served to invite to, and contributed
to confirm.
This conquest thus easily made, the Egyptian could
now give himself wholly up to the pursuit of a far
dearer and mightier object; and he hailed, in his suc-
cess with the brother, an omen of his triumph over the
sister.
He had seen lone on the day following the revel we
have witnessed; and which was also the day after
he had poisoned her mind against his rival. The next
day, and the next, he saw her also : and each time he
laid himself out with consummate art, partly to con-
firm her impression against Glaucus, and principally
to prepare her for the impressions he desired her to re-
ceive. The proud lone took care to conceal the anguish
she endured ; and the pride of woman has an hypocrisy
which can deceive the most penetrating, and shame the
most astute. But Arbaces was no less cautious not to
recur to a subject which he felt it was most politic to
treat as of the lightest importance. He knew that .by
dwelling much upon the fault of a rival, you only give
him dignity in the eyes of your mistress; the wisest
plan is, neither loudly to hate, nor bitterly to contemn ;
142 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the wisest plan is to lower him by an indifference of
tone, as if you could not dream that he could be loved.
Your safety is in concealing the wound to your own
pride, and imperceptibly alarming that of the umpire,
whose voice is fate! Such, in all times, will be the
policy of one who knows the science of the sex — ^it was
now the Egyptian's.
He recurred no more, then, to the presumption of
Glaucus; he mentioned his name, but not more often
than that of Clodius or of Lepidus. He affected to
class them together as things of a low and ephemeral
species; as things wanting nothing of the butterfly,
save its innocence and its grace. Sometimes he slightly
alluded to some invented debauch, in which he declared
them companions; sometimes he adverted to them as
the antipodes of those lofty and spiritual natures to
whose order that of lone belonged. Blinded alike by
the pride of lone, and, perhaps, by his own, he dreamed
not that she already loved; but he dreaded lest she
might have formed for Glaucus the first fluttering pre-
possessions that lead to love. And, secretly, he ground
his teeth in rage and jealousy, when he reflected on the
youth, the fascinations an3 the brilliancy of that for-
midable rival whom he pretended to undervalue.
It was on the fourth day from the date of the close of
the previous book that Arbaces and lone sat together.
You wear your veil at home," said the Egyptian ;
that is not fair to those whom you honour with your
friendship."
But to Arbaces," answered lone, who, indeed, had
cast the veil over her features to conceal eyes red with
weeping, — " to Arbaces, who looks only to the mind,
what matters it that the face is concealed ? "
I do look only to the mind," replied the Egyptian :
show me then your face — for there I shall see it I "
«
r
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 143
" You grow gallant in the air of Pompeii," said lone,
with a forced tone of gaiety.
" Do you think, fair lone, that it is only at Pompeii
that I have learned to value you ? " The Egyptian's
voice trembled — ^he paused for a moment, and then re-
sumed.
" There is a love, beautiful Greek, which is not the
love only of the thoughtless and the young — ^there is a
love which sees not with the eyes, which hears not with
the ears ; but in which soul is enamoured of soul. The
countryman of thy ancestors, the cave-nursed Plato,
dreamed of such a love — ^his followers have sought to
imitate it; but it is a love that is not for the herd to
echo — it is a love that only high and noble natures can
conceive — it hath nothing in common with the sym-
pathies and ties of coarse affection ; — wrinkles do not
revolt it — ^homeliness of feature does not deter ; it asks
youth, it is true, but it asks it only in the freshness of
the emotions; it asks beauty, it is true, but it is the
beauty of the thought and of the spirit. Such is the
love, O lone, which is a worthy offering to thee from
the cold and the austere. Austere and cold thou deem-
est me — such is the love that I venture to lay upon thy
shrine — ^thou canst receive it without a blush."
"And its name is Friendship!" replied lone; her
answer was innocent, yet it sounded like the reproof of
one conscious of the design of the speaker.
" Friendship ! " said Arbaces, vehemently. " No ;
that is a word too often profaned to apply to a senti-
ment so sacred. Friendship ! it is a tie that binds fools
and profligates ! Friendship ! it is the bond that unites
the frivolous hearts of a Glaucus and a Clodius!
Friendship ! no, that is an affection of earth, of vulgar
habits and sordid sympathies ; the feeling of which I
144 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
speak is borrowed from the stars ^ — it partakes of that
mystic and ineffable yearning which we feel when we
gaze on them — it burns, yet it purifies, — it is the lamp
of naphtha in the alabaster vase, glowing with fragrant
odours, but shining only through the purest vessels.
No ; it is not love, and it is not friendship, that Arbaces
feels for lone. Give it no name — earth has no name for
it — it is not of earth — why debase it with earthly
epithets and earthly associations ? "
Never before had Arbaces ventured so far, yet he
felt his ground step by step : he knew that he uttered
a language which, if at this day of affected platonisms
it would speak unequivocally to the ears of beauty, was
at that time strange and unfamiliar, to which no pre-
cise idea could be attached, from which he could im-
perceptibly advance or recede as occasion suited, as
hope encouraged or fear deterred. lone trembled,
though she knew not why; her veil hid her features,
and masked an expression, which, if seen by the Egyp-
tian, would have at once damped and enraged him ; in
fact, he never was more displeasing to her — the har-
monious modulation of the most suasive voice that ever
disguised unhallowed thought fell discordantly on her
ear. Her whole soul was still filled with the image of
Glaucus; and the accent of tenderness from another
only revolted and dismayed; yet she did not conceive
that any passion more ardent than that platonism
which Arbaces expressed lurked beneath his words.
She thought that he, in truth, spoke only of the affec-
tion and sympathy of the soul ; but was it not precisely
that affection and that sympathy which had made a
part of those emotions she felt for Glaucus ; and could
any other footstep than his approach the haunted
adytum of her heart?
1 Plato.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII I4S
Anxious at once to change the conversation^ she re-
plied, therefore, with a cold and indifferent voice,
" Whomsoever Arbaces honours with the sentiment of
esteem, it is natural that his elevated wisdom should
colour that sentiment with its own hues; it is natural
that his friendship should be purer than that of others,
whose pursuits and errors he does not deign to share.
But tell me, Arbaces, hast thou seen my brother of
late? He has not visited me for several days; and
when I last saw him his manner disturbed and alarmed
me much. I fear lest he was too precipitate in the se-
vere choice that he has adopted, and that he repents an
irrevocable step."
" Be cheered, lone," replied the Egyptian. " It is
true, that some little time since he was troubled and
sad of spirit ; those doubts beset him which were likely
to haunt one of that fervent temperament, which ever
ebbs and flows, and vibrates between excitement and
exhaustion. But he, lone, he came to me in his anxi-
eties and his distress; he sought one who pitied and
loved him; I have calmed his mind — I have removed
his doubts — I have taken him from the threshold of
Wisdom into its temple ; and before the majesty of the
goddess his soul is hushed and soothed. Fear not, he
will repent no more ; they who trust themselves to Ar-
baces never repent but for a moment."
" You rejoice me," answered lone. " My dear
brother ! in his contentment I am happy."
The conversation then turned upon lighter subjects ;
the Egyptian exerted himself to please, he con-
descended even to entertain; the vast variety of his
knowledge enabled him to adorn and light every sub-
ject on which he touched ; and lone, forgetting the dis-
pleasing effect of his former words, was carried away,
lO
146 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
despite-her sadness, by the magic of his intellect. Her
manner became unrestrained and her language fluent ;
and Arbaces, who had waited his opportunity, now
hastened to seize it.
" You have never seen," said he, " the interior of
my home ; it may amuse you to do so : it contains some
rooms that may explain to you what you have often
asked me to describe — ^the fashion of an Egyptian
house; not, indeed, that you will perceive in the poor
and minute proportions of Roman architecture the
massive strength, the vast space, the gigantic mag-
nificence, or even the domestic construction of the pal-
aces of Thebes and Memphis ; but something there is,
here and there, that may serve to express to you some
notion of that antique civilisation which has humanised
the world. Devote, then, to the austere friend of your
youth, one of these bright summer evenings, and let
me boast that my gloomy mansion has been honoured
with the presence of the admired lone."
Unconscious of the pollutions of the mansion, of the
danger that awaited her, lone readily assented to the
proposal. The next evening was fixed for the visit;
and the Egyptian, with a serene countenance, and a
heart beating with fierce and unholy joy, departed.
Scarce had he gone, when another visitor claimed ad-
mission. But now we return to Glaucus.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII I47
CHAPTER V
THE POOR TORTOISE. — NEW CHANGES FOR NYDIA.
The morning sun shone over the small and odorous
garden inclosed within the peristyle of the house of
the Athenian. He lay reclined, sad and listlessly, on
the smooth grass which intersected the viridarium ; and
a slight canopy stretched above broke the fierce rays of
the summer sun.
When that fairy mansion was first disinterred from
the earth they found in the garden the shell of a tor-
toise that had been its inmate.^ That animal, so
strange a link in the creation, to which Nature seems
to have denied all the pleasures of life, save life's pas-
sive and dreamlike perception, had been the guest of
the place for years before Glaucus purchased it; for
years, indeed, which went beyond the memory of man,
and to which tradition assigned an almost incredible
date. The house had been built and rebuilt — its pos-
sessors had changed and fluctuated — generations had
flourished and decayed — and still the tortoise dragged
on its slow and unsympathising existence. In the
earthquake, which sixteen years before had overthrown
many of the public buildings of the city, and scared
away the amazed inhabitants, the house now inhabited
by Glaucus had been terribly shattered. The posses-
sors deserted it for many days; on their return they
cleared away the ruins which encumbered the virida-
rium, and found still the tortoise unharmed and uncon-
scious of the surrounding destruction. It seemed to
* I do not know whether it be still preserved (I hope so),
but the shell of a tortoise was found in the house appropriated,
in this work, to Glaucus.
148 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
bear a charmed life in its languid blood and imper-
ceptible motions ; yet was it not so inactive as it seemed :
it held a regular and monotonous course ; inch by inch
it traversed the little orbit of its domain, taking months
to accomplish the whole gyration. It was a restless
voyager, that tortoise! — patiently, and with pain, did
it perform its self-appointed journeys, evincing no in-
terest in the things around it — a philosopher concen-
trated in itself. There was something grand in its sol-
itary selfishness! — ^the sun in which it basked — ^the
waters poured daily over it — the air which it insensibly
inhaled, were its sole and unfailing luxuries. The mild
changes of the season in that lovely clime affected it
not. It covered itself with its shell — as the saint in his
piety — as the sage in his wisdom — as the lover in his
hope.
It was impervious to the shocks and mutations of
time — it was an emblem of time itself: slow, regular,
perpetual: unwitting of the passions that fret them-
selves around — of the wear and tear of mortality. The
poor tortoise! nothing less than the bursting of vol-
canoes, the convulsions of the riven world, could have
quenched its sluggish spark! The inexorable Death,
that spared not pomp or beauty, passed unheedingly by
a thing to which death could bring so insignificant a
change.
For this animal the merciful and vivid Greek felt all
the wonder and affection of contrast. He could spend
hours in surveying its creeping progress, in moralising
over its mechanism. He despised it in joy — ^he envied
it in sorrow.
Regarding it now as he lay along the sward — its dull
mass moving while it seemed motionless, the Athenian
murmured to himself : —
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 149
" The eagle dropped a stone from its talons, thinking
to break thy shell : the stone crushed the head of a poet.
This is the allegory of Fate ! Dull thing ! Thou hadst
a father and a mother ; perhaps, ages ago, thou thyself
hadst a mate. Did thy parents love, or didst thou?
Did thy slow blood circulate more gladly when thou
didst creep to the side of thy wedded one ? Wert thou
capable of affection ? Could it distress thee if she were
away from thy side ? Couldst thou feel when she was
present ? What would I not give to know the history
of thy mailed breast — ^to gaze upon the mechanism of
thy faint desires — to mark what hairbreadth difference
separates thy sorrow from thy joy! Yet, methinks,
thou wouldst know if lone were present! Thou
wouldst feel her coming like a happier air — like a glad-
der sun. I envy thee now, for thou knowest not that
she is absent ; and I — would I could be like thee — be-
tween the intervals of seeing her ! What doubt, what
presentiment, haunts me ! why will she not admit me ?
Days have passed since I heard her voice. For the first
time, life grows flat to me. I am as one who is left
alone at a banquet, the lights dead, and the flowers
faded. Ah! lone, couldst thou dream how I adore
thee ! "
From these enamoured reveries, Glaucus was inter-
rupted by the entrance of Nydia. She came with her
light, though cautious step, along the marble tablinum.
She passed the portico, and paused at the flowers which
bordered the garden. She had her water-vase in her
hand, and she sprinkled the thirsting plants, which
seemed to brighten at her approach. She bent to inhale
their odour, she touched them timidly and caressingly.
She felt alohg their stems, if any withered leaf or
creeping insect marred their beauty. And as she hov-
ISO THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
ered from flower to flower, with her earnest and youth-
ful countenance and graceful motions, you could not
have imagined a fitter handmaid for the goddess of the
garden.
" Nydia, my child ! " said Glaucus.
At the sound of his voice she paused at once — ^listen-
ing, blushing, breathless ; with her lips parted, her face
upturned to catch the direction of the sound, she laid
down the vase — she hastened to him ; and wonderful it
was to see how unerringly she threaded her dark way
through the flowers, and came by the shortest path to
the side of her new lord.
" Nydia," said Glaucus, tenderly stroking back her
long and beautiful hair, " it is now three days since
thou hast been under the protection of my household
gods. Have they smiled on thee ? Art thou happy ? "
" Ah ! so happy ! " sighed the slave.
" And now," continued Glaucus, " that thou hast re-
covered somewhat from the hateful recollections of thy
former state, — and now that they have fitted thee
[touching her broidered tunic] with garments more
meet for thy delicate shape, — and now, sweet child, that
thou hast accustomed thyself to a happiness which may
the gods grant thee ever! I am about to pray at thy
hands a boon."
" Oh ! what can I do for thee ? " said Nydia, clasping
her hands.
" Listen," said Glaucus, " and young as thou art,
thou shalt be my confidant. Hast thou ever heard the
name of lone ? "
The blind girl gasped for breath, and turning pale
as one of the statues which shone upon them from the
peristyle, she answered with an eflFort, and after a mo-
ment's pause, —
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 151
"Yes! I have heard that she is of Neapolis, and
beautiful."
" Beautiful ! her beauty is a thing to dazzle the day I
Neapolis! nay, she is Greek by origin; Greece only
could furnish forth such shapes. Nydia, I love her ! "
" I thought so," replied Nydia, calmly.
" I love, and thou shalt tell her so. I am about to
send thee to her. Happy Nydia, thou wilt be in her
chamber — thou wilt drink the music of her voice —
thou wilt bask in the sunny air of her presence ! "
" What ! what ! wilt thou send me from thee ? "
" Thou wilt go to lone," answered Glaucus, in a tone
that said, " What more canst thou desire? "
Nydia burst into tears.
Glaucus, raising himself, drew her towards him with
the soothing caresses of a brother.
" My child, my Nydia, thou weepest in ignorance of
the happiness I bestow on thee. She is gentle, and
kind, and soft as the breeze of spring. She will be a
sister to thy youth — she will appreciate thy winning
talents — she will love thy simple graces as none other
could, for they are like her own. Weepest thou still,
fond fool ? I will not force thee, sweet. Wilt thou not
do for me this kindness ? "
" Well, if I can serve thee, command. See, I weep
no longer — I am calm."
" That is my own Nydia," continued Glaucus, kiss-
ing her hand. " Go, then, to her : if thou art disap-
pointed in her kindness — if I have deceived thee, re-
turn when thou wilt. I do not give thee to another ; I
but lend. My home ever be thy refuge, swe^t one. Ah !
would it could shelter all the friendless and distressed !
But if my heart whispers truly, I shall claim thee again
soon, my child. My home and lone's will become the
same, and thou shalt dwell with both."
152 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
A shiver passed through the slight frame of the blind
girl, but she wept no more — she was resigned
" Go, then, my Nydia, to lone's house — they shall
show thee the way. Take her the fairest flowers thou
canst pluck ; the vase which contains them I will give
thee: thou must excuse its unworthiness. Thou shalt
take, too, with thee the lute that I gave thee yesterday,
and from which thou knowest so well to awaken the
charming spirit. Thou shalt give her also this letter,
in which, after a hundred efforts, I have embodied
something of my thoughts. Let thy ear catch every ac-
cent, every modulation of her voice, and tell me, when
we meet again, if its music should flatter me or dis-
courage. It is now, Nydia, some days since I have
been admitted to lone ; there is something mysterious
in this exclusion. I am distracted with doubts and
fears ; learn — for thou art quick, and thy care for me
will sharpen tenfold thy acuteness — learn the cause of
this unkindness : speak of me as often as thou canst ; let
my name come ever to thy lips; insinuate how I love
rather than proclaim it ; watch if she sighs whilst thou
speakest; if she answer thee; or, if she reproves, in
what accents she reproves. Be my friend, plead for
me : and ah ! how vastly wilt thou overpay the little I
have done for thee ! Thou comprehendest, Nydia ; thou
art yet a child — ^have I said more than thou canst un-
derstand ? "
" No."
" And thou wilt serve me ? "
" Yes."
" Come to me when thou hast gathered the flowers,
and I will give the vase I spake of; seek me in the
chamber of Leda. Pretty one, thou dost not grieve
now ? "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 153
' Glaucus, I am a slave ; what business have I with
grief or joy?"
" Sayest thou so ? No, Nydia, be free. I give thee
freedom ; enjoy it as thou wilt, and pardon me that I
reckoned on thy desire to serve me."
" You are offended. Oh ! I would not, for that which
no freedom can give, offend you, Glaucus. My guard-
ian, my saviour, my protector, forgive the poor blind
girl ! She does not grieve even in leaving thee, if she
can contribute to thy happiness."
" May the gods bless this grateful heart ! " said
Glaucus, greatly moved ; and, unconscious of the fires
he excited, he repeatedly kissed her forehead.
" Thou forgivest me," said she, " and thou wilt talk
no more of freedom ; my happiness is to be thy slave :
thou hast promised thou wilt not give me to an-
other "
" I have promised."
" And now, then, I will gather the flowers."
Silently Nydia took from the hand of Glaucus the
costly and jewelled vase, in which the flowers vied with
each other in hue and fragrance ; tearlessly she received
his parting admonition. She paused for a moment
when his voice ceased — she did not trust herself to re-
ply— she sought his hand — she raised it to her lips,
dropped her veil over her face, and passed at once from
his presence. She paused again as she reached the
threshold ; she stretched her hands towards it, and mur-
mured,— " Three happy days — days of unspeakable de-
light, have I known since I passed thee — ^blessed
threshold ! may peace dwell ever with thee when I am
gone ! And now, my heart tears itself from thee, and
the only sound it utters bids me — die ! "
154 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
CHAPTER VI
THE HAPPY BEAUTY AND THE BLIND SLAVE.
A slave entered the chamber of lone. A messenger
from Glaucus desired to be admitted.
lone hesitated an instant.
" She is blind, that messenger," said the slave ; " she
will do her commission to none but thee."
Base is that heart which does not respect affliction !
The moment she heard the messenger was blind, lone
felt the impossibility of returning a chilling reply.
Glaucus had chosen a herald that was indeed sacred —
a herald that could not be denied.
" What can he want with me ? what message can he
send ? " and the heart of lone beat quick. The curtain
across the door was withdrawn; a soft and echoless
step fell upon the marble ; and Nydia, led by one of the
attendants, entered with her precious gift.
She stood still a moment, as if listening for some
sound that might direct her.
" Will the noble lone," said she, in a soft and low
voice, " deign to speak, that I may know whither to
steer these benighted steps, and that I may lay my of-
ferings at her feet? "
" Fair child," said lone, touched and soothingly,
" give not thyself the pain to cross these slippery floors,
my attendant will bring to me what thou hast to pre-
sent ; " and she motioned to the handmaid to take the
vase.
I may give these flowers to none but thee," an-
swered Nydia; and, guided by her ear, she walked
slowly to the place where lone sat, and kneeling when
she came before her proffered the vase.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 155
lone took it from her hand, and placed it on the table
at her side. She then raised her gently, and would
have seated her on the couch, but the girl modestly re-
sisted.
" I have not yet discharged my office," said she ; and
she drew the letter of Glaucus from her vest. " This
will, perhaps, explain why he who sent me chose so
unworthy a messenger to lone."
The Neapolitan took the letter with a hand, the
trembling of which Nydia at once felt and sighed to
feel. With folded arms and downcast looks, she stood
before the proud and stately form of lone; — ^no less
proud, perhaps, in her attitude of submission. lone
waved her hand, and the attendants withdrew; she
gazed again upon the form of the young slave in sur-
prise and beautiful compassion; then, retiring a little
from her, she opened and read the following letter : —
" Glaucus to lone sends more than he dares to utter.
Is lone ill ? thy slaves tell me * No,* and that assurance
comforts me. Has Glaucus offended lone? — ah! that
question I may not ask from them. For five days I
have been banished from thy presence. Has the sun
shone? — I know it not. Has the skv smiled? — it has
had no smile for me. My sun and my sky are lone.
Do I offend thee ? Am I too bold ? Did I say that on
the tablet which my tongue has hesitated to breathe?
Alas ! it is in thine absence that I feel most the spells
by which thou hast subdued me. And absence, that
deprives me of joy, brings me courage. Thou wilt
not see me ; thou hast banished also the common flat-
terers that flock around thee. Canst thou confound
me with them? It is not possible ! Thou knowest too
well that I am not of them — that their clay is not mine.
1 56 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
For even were I of the humblest mould, the fragrance
of the rose has penetrated me, and the spirit of thy na-
ture hath passed within me, to embalm, to sanctify,
to inspire. Have they slandered me to thee, lone?
Thou wilt not believe them. Did the Delphic oracle
itself tell me thou wert unworthy, I would not believe
it: and am I less incredulous than thou? I think of
the last time we met — of the song which I sang to thee
— of the look that thou gavest me in return. Disguise
it as thou wilt, lone, there is something kindred between
us, and our eyes acknowledged it, though our lips were
silent. Deign to see me, to listen to me, and after that
exclude me if thou wilt. I meant not so soon to say I
loved. But those words rush to my heart — they will
have way. Accept, then, my homage and my vows.
We met first at the shrine of Pallas ; shall we not meet
before a softer and a more ancient altar ?
" Beautiful ! adored lone ! If my hot youth and my
Athenian blood have misguided and allured me, they
have but taught my wanderings to appreciate the rest
— the haven they have attained. I hang up my drip-
ping robes on the Sea-god's shrine. I have escaped
shipwreck. I have found thee. lone, deign to see
me ; thou art gentle to strangers, wilt thou be less mer-
ciful to those of thine own land ? I await thy reply.
Accept the flowers which I send — their sweet breath
has a language more eloquent than words. They take
from the sun the odours they return — they are the em-
blem of the love that receives and repays tenfold — the
emblem of the heart that drunk thy rays, and owes to
thee the germ of the treasures that it proffers to thy
smile. I send these by one whom thou wilt receive
for her own sake, if not for mine. She, like us, is a
stranger; her father's ashes lie under brighter skies;
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 157
but, less happy than we, she is blind and a slave. Poor
Nydia ! I seek as much as possible to repair to her the
cruelties of Nature and of Fate, in asking permission
to place her with thee. She is gentle, quick, docile.
She is skilled in music and the song ; and she is a very
Chloris ^ to the flowers. She thinks, lone, that thou
wilt love her : if thou dost not, send her back to me.
" One word more, — let me be bold, lone. Why
thinkest thou so highly of yon dark Egyptian ? he hath
not about him the air of honest men. We Greeks learn
mankind from our cradle; we are not the less pro-
found, in that we affect no sombre mien : our lips smile,
but our eyes are grave — they observe — they note — they
study. Arbaces is not one to be credulously trusted ;
can it be that he hath wronged me to thee ? I think it,
for I left him with thee ; thou sawest how my presence
stung him ; since then thou hast not admitted me. Be-
lieve nothing that he can say to my disfavour ; if thou
dost, tell me so at once ; for this lone owes to Glaucus.
Farewell ! this letter touches thy hand ; these characters
meet thine eyes — shall they be more blessed than he
who is their author ? Once more farewell ! "
It seemed to lone, as she read this letter, as if a mist
had fallen from her eyes. What had been the sup-
posed offence of Glaucus? — that he had not really
loved! And now, plainly, and in no dubious terms,
he confessed that love. From that moment his power
was fully restored. At every tender word in that let-
ter, so full of romantic and trustful passion, her heart
smote her. And had she doubted his faith, and had
she believed another? and had she not, at least, allowed
to him the culprit's right to know his crime to plead in
1 The Greek Flora.
158 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
his defence? The tears rolled down her cheeks — she
kissed the letter — she placed it in her bosom ; and, turn-
ing to Nydia, wh© stood in the same place and in the
same posture : —
" Wilt thou sit, my child,'* said she, " while I write
an answer to this letter ? "
" You will answer it, then ! " said Nydia, coldly.
" Well, the slave that accompanied me will take back
your answer."
" For you," said lone, " stay with me — trust me,
your service shall be light."
Nydia bowed her head.
" What is your name, fair girl ? "
" They call me Nydia."
" Your country ? "
" The land of Olympus — Thessaly."
" Thou shalt be to me a friend," said lone, caress-
ingly, "as thou art already half a countrywoman.
Meanwhile, I beseech thee, stand not on these cold and
glassy marbles. — ^There! now that thou art seated, I
can leave thee for an instant."
" lone to Glaucus greeting. — Come to me, Glaucus,*'
wrote lone, — "come to me to-morrow. I may have
been unjust to thee, but I will tell thee, at least, the fault
that has been imputed to thy charge. Fear not hence-
forth the Egyptian — fear none. Thou sayest thou hast
expressed too much — alas ! in these hasty words I have
already done so. Farewell ! "
As lone reappeared with the letter, which she did not
dare to read after she had written (ah ! common rash-
ness, common timidity of love!) — Nydia started from
her seat.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 159
" You have written to Glaucus ? "
" I have/'
" And will he thank the messenger who gives to
him thy letter ? "
lone forgot her companion was blind; she blushed
from the brow to the neck, and remained silent.
" I mean this," added Nydia in a calmer tone ; " the
lightest word of coldness from thee will sadden him —
the lightest kindness will rejoice. If it be the first, let
the slave take back thine answer ; if it be the last, let
me — I will return this evening."
" And why, Nydia," asked lone, evasively, " wouldst
thou be the bearer of my letter ? "
" It is so, then ! " said Nydia. " Ah ! how could it be
otherwise ; who could be unkind to Glaucus ? "
" My child," said lone, a little more reservedly than
before, " thou speakest warmly — Glaucus, then, is
amiable in thine eyes ? "
" Noble lone ! Glaucus has been that to me which
neither fortune nor the gods have been — a friend! "
The sadness, mingled with dignity, with which
Nydia uttered these simple words affected the beauti-
ful lone ; she bent down and kissed her. " Thou art
grateful and deservedly so ; why should I blush to say
that Glaucus is worthy of thy gratitude ? Go, my
Nydia — ^take to him thyself this letter — but return
again. If I am from home when thou returnest — as
this evening, perhaps, I shall be-r-thy chamber shall
be prepared next to my own. Nydia, I have no sister
— wilt thou be one to me ? "
The Thessalian kissed the hand of lone, and then
said, with some embarrassment, —
" One favour, fair lone — may I dare to ask it ? "
" Thou canst not ask what I will not grant," replied
the Neapolitan.
i6o THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" They tell me," said Nydia, " that thou art beautiful
beyond the loveliness of earth. Alasl I cannot see
that which gladdens the world. Wilt thou suffer r^ie,
then, to pass my hand over thy face ? — ^that is my sole
criterion of beauty, and I usually guess aright."
She did not wait for the answer of lone, but, as she
spoke, gently and slowly passed her hand over the
bending and half-averted features of the Greek — ^feat-
ures which but one image in the world can yet de-
picture and recall — that image is the mutilated, but
all-wondrous, statue in her native city — ^her own Neap-
olis; — that Parian face, before which all the beauty
of the Florentine Venus is poor and earthly — ^that as-
pect so full of harmony — of youth— of genius of the
soul — which modern critics have supposed the repre-
sentation of Psyche.^
Her touch lingered over the braided hair and pol-
ished brow — over the downy and damask cheek— over
the dimpled lip — the swan-like and whitish neck. " I
know now that thou art beautiful," she said : " and I
can picture thee to my darkness henceforth, and for
ever ! "
When Nydia left her, lone sank into a deep but de-
licious reverie. Glaucus then loved her; he owned it
— yes, he loved her. She drew forth again that dear
confession; she paused over every word, she kissed
every line ; she did not ask why he had been maligned,
she only felt assured that he had been so. She won-
dered how she had ever believed a syllable against
him ; she wondered how the Egyptian had been enabled
to exercise a power against Glaucus; she felt a chill
1 The wonderful remains of the statue so called in the Museo
Borbonico. The face, for sentiment and for feature, is the
most beautiful of all which ancient sculpture has bequeathed
to us.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII i6i
creep over her as she again turned to his warning
against Arbaces, and her secret fear of that gloomy be-
ing darkened into awe. She was awakened from these
thoughts by her maidens, who. came to announce to her
that the hour appointed to visit Arbaces was arrived ;
she started, she had forgotten the promise. Her first
impression was to renounce it; her second, was to
laugh at her own fears of her eldest surviving friend.
She hastened to add the usual ornaments to her dress,
and, doubtful whether she should yet question the
Egyptian more closely with respect to his accusation
of Glaucus, or whether she should wait till, without
citing the authority, she should insinuate to Glaucus the
accusation itself, she took her way to the gloomy man-
sion of Arbaces.
CHAPTER VII
lONE ENTRAPPED. — ^THE MOUSE TRIES TO GNAW THE
NET.
" O dearest Nydia ! " exclaimed Glaucus as he read
the letter of lone, " whitest-robed messenger that ever
passed between earth and heaven — ^how, how shall I
thank thee ? "
" I am rewarded," said the poor Thessalian.
" To-morrow — ^to-morrow ! how shall I while the
hours till then ? "
The enamoured Greek would not let Nydia escape
him, though she sought several times to leave the
chamber; he made her recite to him over and over
again every syllable of the brief conversation that had
taken place between her and lone ; a thousand times,
forgetting her misfortune, he questioned her of the
II
i62 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
looks, of the countenance of his beloved; and then
quickly again excusing his fault, he bade her recom-
mence the whole recital which he had thus interrupted.
The hours thus painful to Nydia passed rapidly and
delightfully to him, and the twilight had already dark-
ened ere he once more dismissed her to lone with a
fresh letter and with new flowers. Scarcely had she
gone, than Clodius and several of his gay companions
broke in upon him; they rallied him on his seclusion
during the whole day, and his absence from his cus-
tomary haunts ; they invited him to accompany them to
the various resorts in that lively city, which night and
day proffered diversity to pleasure. Then, as now, in
the south (for no land, perhaps, losing more of great-
ness has retained more of custom), it was the delight
of the Italians to assemble in the evening; and, under
the porticoes of temples, or the shade of the groves
that interspersed the streets, listening to music or the
recitals of some inventive tale-teller, they h'ailed the
rising moon with libations of wine and the melodies of
song. Glaucus was too happy to be unsocial ; he longed
to cast off the exuberance of joy that oppressed him.
He willingly accepted the proposal of his comrades,
and laughingly they sallied out together down the
populous and glittering streets.
In the meantime Nydia once more gained the house
of lone, who had long left it ; she inquired indifferently
whither lone had gone.
The answer arrested and appalled her.
" To the house of Arbaces — of the Egyptian? Im-
possible ! "
" It is true, my little one," said the slave, who had re-
plied to her question. " She has known the Egyptian
long."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 163
" Long ! ye gods, yet Glaucus loves her ! " murmured
Nydia to herself. " And has," asked she aloud, — " has
she often visited him before ? '*
" Never till now," answered the slave. " If all the
rumoured scandal of Pompeii be true, it would be bet-
ter, perhaps, if she had not ventured there at present.
But she, poor mistress mine, hears nothing of that
which reaches us; the talk of the vestibulum reaches
not to the peristyle." ^
" Never till now ! " repeated Nydia. " Art thou
sure ? "
" Sure, pretty one : but what is that to thee or to us ? "
Nydia hesitated a moment, and then, putting down
the flowers with which she had been charged, she called
to the slave who had accompanied her, and left the
house without saying another word.
Not till she had got half-way back to the house of
Glaucus did she break silence, and even then she only
murmured inly :—
" She does not dream — she cannot — of the dangers
into which she has plunged. Fool that I am, — shall I
save her ? — yes, for I love Glaucus better than myself."
When she arrived at the house of the Athenian, she
learnt that he had gone out with a party of his friends,
and none knew whither. He probably would not be
home before midnight.
The Thessalian groaned ; she sank upon a seat in the
hall, and covered her face with her hands as if to collect
her thoughts. " There is no time to be lost," thought
she, starting up. She turned to the slave who had ac-
companied her.
" Knowest thou," said she, " if lone has any relative,
any intimate friend at Pompeii ? "
* Terence.
«
i64 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Why, by Jupiter ! " answered the slave, " art thou
silly enough to ask the question^? Every one in Pom-
peii knows that lone has a brother who, young and
rich, has been — under the rose I speak — so foolish as
to become a priest of Isis."
" A priest of Isis ! O Gods ! his name ? "
Apaecides."
I know it all," muttered Nydia : " brother and sis-
ter, then, are to be both victims ! Apaecides I yes, that
was the name I heard in . Ha! he well, then,
knows the peril that surrounds his sister; I will go to
him."
She sprang up at that thought, and taking the staff
which always guided her steps, she hastened to the
neighbouring shrine of Isis. Till she had been under
the guardianship of the kindly Greek that staff had
sufficed to conduct the poor blind girl from comer to
corner of Pompeii. Every street, every turning in the
more frequented parts, was familiar to her ; and as the
inhabitants entertained a tender and half-superstitious
veneration for those subject to her infirmity, the pas-
sengers had always given way to her timid steps. Poor
girl, she little dreamed that she should, ere very many
days were passed, find her blindness her protection,
and a guide far safer than the keenest eyes !
But since she had been under the roof of Glaucus,
he had ordered a slave to accompany her always ; and
the poor devil thus appointed, who was somewhat of
the fattest, and who, after having twice performed .the
journey to lone's house, now saw himself condemned
to a third excursion (whither the gods only knew),
hastened after her, deploring his fate, and solemnly as-
suring Castor and Pollux that he believed the blind
girl had the talaria of Mercury as well as the infirmity
of Cupid.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 165
Nydia, however, required but little of his assistance
to find her way to the popular temple of Isis: the
space before it was now deserted, and she won with-
out obstacle to the sacred rails.
" There is no one here," said the fat slave. " What
dost thou want, or whom ? Knowest thou not that the
priests do not live in the temple ? "
" Call out,'* said she, impatiently ; " night and day
there is always one flamen, at least, watching in the
shrines of Isis."
The slave called, — no one appeared.
" Seest thou no one ? "
" No one."
" Thou mistakest ; I hear a sigh : look again."
The slave, wondering and grumbling, cast round
his heavy eyes, and before one of the altars, whose re-
mains still crowd the narrow space, he beheld a form
bending as in meditation.
" I see a figure," said he ; " and by the white gar-
ments it is a priest."
" O flamen of Isis ! " cried Nydia ; " servant of the
Most Ancient, hear me ! "
" Who calls ? " said a low and melancholy voice.
" One who has no common tidings to impart to a
member of your body : I come to declare and not to ask
oracles."
" With whom wouldst thou confer ? This is no hour
for thy conference ; depart, disturb me not ; the night is
sacred to the gods, the day to men."
" Methinks I know thy voice ; thou art he whom I
seek ; yet I have heard thee speak but once before. Art
thou not the priest Apaecides ? "
" I am that man," replied the priest, emerging from
the altar, and approaching the rail.
i66 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Thou art ! the gods be praised ! *' Waving her
hand to the slave, she bade him withdraw to a distance ;
and he, who naturally imagined some superstition con-
nected, perhaps, with the safety of lone, could alone
lead her to the temple, obeyed, and seated himself on
the ground at a little distance. " Hush ! " said she,
speaking quick and low ; " art thou indeed Apaecides ? "
" If thou knowest me, canst thou not recall my
features ? "
" I am blind," answered Nydia ; " my eyes are in
my ear, and that recognises thee : yet swear that thou
art he/'
" By the gods I swear it, by my right hand, and by
the moon ! "
" Hush ! speak low — ^bend near — give me thy hand :
knowest thou Arbaces? Hast thou laid flowers at the
feet of the dead ? Ah ! thy hand is cold— hark yet ! —
hast thou taken the awful vow ? "
" Who art thou, whence comest thou, pale maiden ? "
said Apaecides, fearfully : " I know thee not ; thine is
not the breast on which this head hath lain; I have
never seen thee before."
" But thou hast heard my voice : no matter, those
recollections it should shame us both to recall. Listen,
thou hast a sister."
" Speak ! speak ! what of her ? "
" Thou knowest the banquets of the dead, stranger,
— it pleases thee, perhaps, to share them — would it
please thee to have thy sister a partaker? Would it
please thee that Arbaces was her host ? "
" O gods, he dare not ! Girl, if thou mockest me,
tremble ! I will tear thee limb from limb ! "
" I speak the truth ; and while I speak, lone is in the
halls of Arbaces — for the first time his guest. Thou
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 167
knowest if there be peril in that first time ! ^ Farewell !
I have fulfilled my charge."
" Stay ! stay ! " cried the priest, passing his wan hand
over his brow. "If this be true, what — what can be
done to save her? They may not admit me. I know
not all the mazes of that intricate mansion. O Nemesis !
justly am I punished ! "
*' I will dismiss yon slave, be thou my guide and
comrade; I will lead thee to the private door of the
house : I will whisper to thee the word which admits.
Take some weapon : it may be needful."
" Wait an instant," said Apaecides, retiring into one
of the cells that flank the temple, and reappearing in a
few moments wrapped in a large cloak, which was then
much worn by all classes, and which concealed his
sacred dress. " Now," he said, grinding his teeth, " if
Arbaces hath dared to — ^but he dare not ! he dare not !
Why should I suspect him? Is he so base a villain?
I will not think it — ^yet sophist ! dark bewilderer that he
is! O gods, protect — hush! are there gods? Yes,
there is one goddess, at least, whose voice I can com-
mand ; and that is — Vengeance ! "
Muttering these disconnected thoughts, Apaecides,
. followed by his silent and sightless companion, has-
tened through the most solitary paths to the house of
the Egyptian.
The slave, abruptly dismissed by Nydia, shrugged
his shoulders, muttered an adjuration, and, nothing
loth, rolled off to his cubiculum.
i68 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEU
CHAPTER Vni
THE SOLITUDE AND SOLILOQUY OF THE EGYPTIAN. —
HIS CHARACTER ANALYSED.
We must go back a few hours in the progress of our
story. At the first grey dawn of the day, which Glau-
cus had already marked with white, the Egyptian was
seated, sleepless and alone, on the summit of the lofty
pyramidal tower which flanked his house. A tall para-
pet around it served as a wall, and conspired, with the
height of the edifice and the gloomy trees that girded
the mansion, to defy the prying eyes of curiosity or ob-
servation. A table, on which lay a scroll, filled with
mystic figures, was before him. On high, the stars
waxed dim and faint, and the shades of night melted
from the sterile mountain-tops; only above Vesuvius
there rested a deep and massy cloud, which for several
days past had gathered darker and more solid over its
summit. The struggle of night and day was more vis-
ible over the broad ocean, which stretched calm, like
a gigantic lake, bounded by the circling shores that,
covered with vines and foliage, and gleaming here and
there with the white walls of sleeping cities, sloped to
the scarce rippling waves.
It was the hour above all others most sacred to the
daring science of the Egyptian — the science which
would read our changeful destinies in the stars.
He had filled his scroll, he had noted the moment and
the sign; and, leaning upon his hand, he had surren-
dered himself to the thoughts which his calculation ex-
cited.
" Again do the stars forewarn me ! Some danger,
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 169
then, assuredly awaits me ! " said he, slowly ; " some
danger, violent and sudden in its nature. The stars
wear for me the same mocking menace which, if our
chronicles do not err, they once wore for Pyrrhus —
for him, dck)med to strive for all things, to enjoy none
— all attacking, nothing gaining — battles without fruit,
laurels without triumph, fame without success ; at last
made craven by his own superstitions, and slain like
a dog by a tile from the hand of an old woman ! Verily
the stars flatter when they give me a type in this fool
of war, — when they promise to the ardour of my wis-
dom the same results as to the madness of his ambi-
tion ; — perpetual exercise — ^no certain goal ! — ^the Sisy-
phus task, the mountain and the stone! — ^the stone, a
gloomy image! — it reminds me that I am threatened
with somewhat of the same death as the Epirote. Let
me look again. ' Beware,' say the shining prophets,
' how thou passest under ancient roofs, or besieged
walls, or overhanging cliffs — a stone, hurled from
above, is charged by the curses of destiny against
thee ! ' And, at no distant date from this, comes the
peril: but I cannot, of a certainty, read the day and
hour. Well! if my glass runs low, the sands shall
sparkle to the last. Yet, if I escape this peril— ay, if
I escape — ^bright and clear as the moonlight track
along the waters glows the rest of my existence. I see
honours, happiness, success, shining upon every billow
of the dark gulf beneath which I must sink at last.
What, then, with such destinies beyond the peril, shall
I succumb to the peril? My soul whispers hope, it
sweeps exultingly beyond the boding hour, it revels
in the future, — its own courage is its fittest omen. If
I were to perish so suddenly and so soon, the shadow
of death would darken over me, and I should feel the
170 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
icy presentiment of my doom. My soul would ex-
press, in sadness and in gloom, its forecast of the
dreary Orcus. But it smiles — it assures me of de-
liverance."
As he thus concluded his soliloquy, the Egyptian
involuntarily rose. He paced rapidly the narrow
space of that star-roofed floor, and, pausing at the
parapet, looked again upon the grey and melancholy
heavens. The chills of the faint dawn came refresh-
ingly upon his brow, and gradually his mind resumed
its natural and collected calm. He withdrew his gaze
from the stars, as, one after one, they receded into
the depths of heaven ; and his eyes fell over the broad
expanse below. Dim in the silenced port of the city
rose the masts of the galleys; along that mart of
luxury and of labour was stilled the mighty hum. No
lights, save here and there from before the columns
of a temple, or in the porticoes of the voiceless forum,
broke the wan and fluctuating light of the struggling
morn. From the heart of the torpid city, so soon to
vibrate with a thousand passions, there came no
sound: the streams of life circulated not; they lay
locked under the ice of sleep. From the huge space
of the amphitheatre, with its stony seats rising one
above the other — coiled and round as some slumber-
ing monster — rose a thin and ghastly mist, which
gathered darker, and more dark, over the scattered
foliage that gloomed in its vicinity. The city seemed
as, after the awful change of seventeen ages, it seems
now to th^ traveller, — a City of the Dead.^
The ocean itself — ^that serene and tideless sea — lay
1 When Sir Walter Scott visited Pompeii with Sir William
Gell, almost his only remark was the exclamation, " The City
of the Dead— the City of the Dead ! "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 171
scarce less hushed, save that from its deep bosom
came, softened by the distance, a faint and regular
murmur, like the breathing of its sleep ; and curving
far, as with outstretched arms, into the green and
beautiful land, it seemed unconsciously to clasp to
its breast the cities sloping to its margin — Stabiae,^
and Herculaneum, and Pompeii — ^those children and
darlings of the deep. " Ye slumber," said the Egyp-
tian, as he scowled over the cities, the boast and
flower of Campania ; " ye slumber ! — ^would it were
the eternal repose of death ! As ye now — ^jewels in
the crown of empire — so once were the cities of the
Nile ! Their greatness hath perished from them, they
sleep amidst ruins, their palaces and their shrines are
tombs, the serpent coils in the grass of their streets,
the lizard basks in their solitary halls. By that mys-
terious law of nature, which humbles one to exalt
the other, ye have thriven upon their ruins; thou,
haughty Rome, hast usurped the glories of Sesostris
and Semiramis — thou art a robber, clothing thyself
with their spoils ! And these — slaves in thy triumph
— that I (the last son of forgotten monarchs) survey
below, reservoirs of thine all-pervading power and
luxury, I curse as I behold: The time shall come
when Egypt shall be avenged ! when the barbarian's
steed shall make his manger in the Golden House of
Nero! and thou that hast sown the wind with con-
quest shall reap the harvest in the whirlwind of deso-
lation ! "
As the Egyptian uttered a prediction which fate so
fearfully fulfilled, a more solemn and boding image
of ill omen never occurred to the dreams of painter
* Stabiae was indeed no longer a city, but it was still a
favourite site for the villas of the rich.
172 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
or of poet. The morning light which can pale so
wanly even the young cheek of beauty, gave his ma-
jestic and stately features almost the colours of the
grave, with the dark hair falling massively around
them, and the dark robes flowing long and loose, and
the arm outstretched from that lofty eminence, and
the glittering eyes, fierce with a savage gladness, —
half prophet and half fiend !
He turned his gaze from the city and the ocean;
before him lay the vineyards and the meadows of the
rich Campania. The gate and walls — ancient, half
Pelasgic — of the city, seemed not to bound its extent.
Villas and villages stretched on every side up the as-
cent of Vesuvius, not nearly then so steep or so lofty
as at present. For as Rome itself is built on an ex-
hausted volcano, so in similar security the inhabitants
of the South tenanted the green and vine-clad places
around a volcano whose fires they believed at rest
for ever. From the gate stretched the long street of
tombs, various in size and architecture, by which, on
that side, the city is yet approached. Above all, rose
the cloud-capped summit of the Dread Mountain,
with the shadows, now dark, now light, betraying the
mossy caverns and ashy rocks, which testified the
past conflagrations, and might have prophesied — ^but
man is blind — that which was to come !
Difficult was it then and there to guess the causes
why the tradition of the place wore so gloomy and
stern a hue ; why, in those smiling plains, for miles
around — ^to Baiae and Misenum — the poets had
imagined the entrance and thresholds of their hell —
their Acheron, and their fabled Styx: why, in those
Phlegrae,^ now laughing with the vine, they placed
* Or, Phlegrai Campi, viz., scorched or burned fields.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 173
the battles of the gods, and supposed the daring
Titans to have sought the victory of heaven — save,
indeed, that yet, in yon seared and blasted summit,
fancy might think to read the characters of the Olym-
pian thunderbolt.
But it was neither the rugged height of the still
volcano, nor the fertility of the sloping fields, nor the
melancholy avenue of tombs, nor the glittering villas
of a polished and luxurious people, that now arrested
the eye of the Egyptian. On one part of the land-
scape, the mountain of Vesuvius descended to the
plain in a narrow and uncultivated ridge, broken here
and there by jagged crags and copses of wild foliage.
At the base of this lay a marshy and unwholesome
pool ; and the intent gaze of Arbaces caught the out-
line of some living form moving by the marshes, and
stooping ever and anon as if to pluck its rank produce.
" Ho ! " said he, aloud, " I have, then, another com-
panion in these unworldly night-watches. The witch
of Vesuvius is abroad. What ! doth she, too, as the
credulous imagine, — doth she, too, learn the lore of
the great stars ? Hath she been uttering foul magic
to the moon, or culling (as her pauses betoken) foul
herbs from the venomous marsh? Well, I must see
this fellow-labourer. Whoever strives to know
learns that no human lore is despicable. Despicable
only you — ye fat and bloated things — slaves of luxury
— sluggards in thought — who, cultivating nothing
but the barren sense, dream that its poor soul can
produce alike the myrtle and the laurel. No, the wise
only can enjoy — to us only true luxury is given, when
mind, brain, invention, experience, thought, learning,
imagination, all contribute like rivers to swell the seas
of SENSE ! — lone ! "
174 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
As Arbaces uttered that last and charmed word, his
thoughts sank at once into a more deep and profound
channel. His steps paused; he took not his eyes
from the ground; once or twice he smiled joyously,
and then, as he turned from his place of vigil, and
sought his couch, he muttered, " If death frowns so
near, I will say at least that I have lived — lone shall
be mine ! "
The character of Arbaces was one of those intricate
and varied webs, in which even the mind that sat with-
in it was sometimes confused and perplexed. In him,
the son of a fallen dynasty, the outcast of a sunken
people, was that spirit of discontented pride, which
ever rankles in one of a sterner mould, who feels him-
self inexorably shut from the sphere in which his
fathers shone, and to which nature as well as birth no
less entitles himself. This sentiment hath no benev-
olence ; it wars with society, it sees enemies in man-
kind. But with this sentiment did not go its com-
mon companion, poverty. Arbaces possessed wealth
which equalled that of most of the Roman nobles;
and this enabled him to gratify to the utmost the pas-
sions which had no outlet in business or ambition.
Travelling from clime to clime, and beholding still
Rome everywhere, he increased both his hatred of
society and his passion for pleasure. He was in a
vast prison, which, however, he could fill with the
ministers of luxury. He could not escape from the
prison, and his only object, therefore, was to give it
the character of the palace. The Egyptians, from
the earliest time, were devoted to the joys of sense ;
•Arbaces inherited both their appetite for sensuality
and the glow of imagination which struck light from
its rottenness. But still, unsocial in his pleasures as
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 175
in his graver pursuits, and brooking neither superior
nor equal, he admitted few to his companionship, save
the willing slaves of his profligacy. He was the soli-
tary lord of a crowded harem; but, with all, he felt
condemned to that satiety which is the constant curse
of men whose intellect is above their pursuits, and
that which once had been the impulse of passion froze
down to the ordinance of custom. From the disap-
pointments of sense he sought to raise himself by the
cultivation of knowledge ; but as it was not his object
to serve mankind, so he despised that knowledge
which is practical and useful. His dark imagination
loved to exercise itself in those more visionary and
obscure researches which are ever. the most delight-
ful to a wayward and solitary mind, and to which he
himself was invited by the daring pride of his disposi-
tion and the mysterious traditions of his clime. Dis-
missing faith in the confused creeds of the heathen
world, he reposed the greatest faith in the power of
human wisdom. He did not know (perhaps no one
in that age distinctly did) the limits which Nature
imposes upon our discoveries. Seeing that the high-
er we mount in knowledge the more wonders we be-
hold, he imagined that Nature not only worked mira-
cles in her ordinary course, but that she might, by the
cabala of some master soul, be diverted from that
course itself. Thus he pursued science, across her
appointed boundaries, into the land of perplexity and
shadow. From the truths of astronomy he wandered
into astrological fallacy; from the secrets of chem-
istry he passed into the spectral labyrinth of magic ;
and he who could be sceptical as to the power of the
gods, was credulously superstitious as to the power
of man.
176 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The cultivation of magic, carried at that day to a
singular height among the would-be wise, was espe-
cially Eastern in its origin; it was alien to the early
philosophy of the Greeks; nor had it been received
by them with favour until Ostanes, who accompanied
the army of Xerxes, introduced, amongst the simple
credulities of Hellas, the solemn superstitions of
Zoroaster. Under the Roman emperors it had be-
come, however, naturalised at Rome (a meet subject
for Juvenal's fiery wit). Intimately connected with
magic was the worship of Isis, and the Egyptian re-
ligion was the means by which was extended the
devotion to Egyptian sorcery. The theurgic, or
benevolent magic — ^the goetic, or dark and evil necro-
mancy— ^were alike in pre-eminent repute during
the first century of the Christian era ; and the marvels
of Faustus are not comparable to those of Apol-
lonius.^ Kings, courtiers, and sages, all trembled be-
fore the professors of the dread science. And not
the least remarkable of his tribe was the formidable
and profound Arbaces. His fame and his discoveries
were known to all the cultivators of magic ; they even
survived himself. But it was not by his real name
that he was honoured by the sorcerer and the sage :
his real name, indeed, was unknown in Italy, for " Ar-
baces " was not a genuinely Egyptian but a Median
appellation, which, in the admixture and unsettlement
of the ancient races, had become common in the coun-
try of the Nile ; and there were various reasons, not
only of pride, but of policy (for in youth he had con-
spired against the majesty of Rome), which induced
him to conceal his true name and rank. But neither
by the name he had borrowed from the Mede, nor by
1 See note (a) at the end.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 177
that which in the colleges of Egypt would have at-
tested his origin from kings, did the cultivators of
magic acknowledge the potent master. He received
from their homage a more mystic appellation, and
was long remembered in Magna Graecia and the East-
em plains by the name of " Hermes, the Lord of the
Flaming Belt." His subtle speculations and boasted
attributes of wisdom, recorded in various volumes,
were among those tokens ** of the curious arts " which
the Christian converts most joyfully, yet most fear-
fully, burned at Ephesus, depriving posterity of the
proofs of the cunning of the fiend.
The conscience of Arbaces was solely of the intel-
lect— ^it was awed by no moral laws. If man imposed
these checks upon the herd, so he believed that man,
by superior wisdom, could raise himself above them.
" If [he reasoned] I have the genius to impose laws,
have I not the right to command my own creations?
Still more, have I not the right to control — ^to evade
— ^to scorn — the fabrications of yet meaner intellects
than my own ? " Thus, if he were a villain, he justi-
fied his villany by what ought to have made him virtu-
ous— namely, the elevation of his capacities.
Most men have more or less the passion for power ;
in Arbaces that passion corresponded exactly to his
character. It was not the passion for an external and
brute authority. He desired not the purple and the
fasces, the insignia of vulgar command. His youth-
ful ambition once foiled and defeated, scorn had sup-
plied its place. His pride, his contempt for Rome —
Rome, which had become the synonym of the world
(Rome, whose haughty name he regarded with the
same disdain as that which Rome herself lavished
upon the barbarian), did not permit him to aspire to
12
178 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
sway over others, for that would render him at once
the tool or creature of the emperor. He, the Son of
the Great Race of Rameses — he execute the orders
of, and receive his power from another ! — ^the mere no-
tion filled him with rage. But in rejecting an ambi-
tion that coveted nominal distinctions, he but indulged
the more in the ambition to rule the heart. Honour-
ing mental power as the greatest of earthly gifts, he
loved to feel that power palpably in himself, by ex-
tending it over all whom he encountered. Thus had
he ever sought the young — thus had he ever fascinat-
ed and controlled them. He loved to find subjects
in men's souls — to rule over an invisible and imma-
terial empire! — ^had he been less sensual and less
wealthy, he might have sought to becpme the founder
of a new religion. As it was, his energies were
checked by his pleasures. Besides, however, the
vague love of this moral sway (vanity so dear to
sages !) he was influenced by a singular and dreamlike
devotion to all that belonged to the mystic Land his
ancestors had swayed. Although he disbelieved in
her deities, he believed in the allegories they repre-
sented (or rather he interpreted those allegories
anew). He loved to keep alive the worship of Egypt,
because he thus maintained the shadow and the recol-
lection of her pozver. He loaded, therefore, the altars
of Osiris and of IsiS with regal donations, and was
ever anxious to dignify their priesthood by new and
wealthy converts. The vow taken — the priesthood
embraced — he usually chose the comrades of his
pleasures from those whom he had made his victims,
partly because he thus secured to himself their secrecy
— partly because he thus yet more confirmed to him-
self his peculiar power. Hence the motives of his
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 179
conduct to Apaecides, strengthened as these were, in
that instance, by his passion for lone.
He had seldom lived long in one place ; but as he
grew older, he grew more wearied of the excitement
of new scenes, and he had sojourned among the de-
lightful cities of Campania for a period which sur-
prised even himself. In fact, his pride somewhat
crippled his choice of residence. His unsuccessful
conspiracy excluded him from those burning climes
which he deemed of right his own hereditary posses-
sion, and which now cowered, supine and sunken,
under the wings of the Roman eagle. Rome herself
was hateful to his indignant soul ; nor did he love to
find his riches rivalled by the minions of the court,
and cast into comparative poverty by the mighty
magnificence of the court itself. The Campanian
cities proffered to him all that his nature craved — ^the
luxuries of an unequalled climate — the imaginative re-
finements of a voluptuous civilisation. He was re-
moved from the sight of a superior wealth ; he was
without rivals to his riches ; he was free from the spies
of a jealous court. As long as he was rich, none
pried into his conduct. He pursued the dark tenor
of his way undisturbed and secure.
It is the curse of sensualists never to love till the
pleasures of sense begin to pall; their ardent youth
is frittered away in countless desires — their hearts are
exhausted. So, ever chasing love, and taught by a
restless imagination to exaggerate, perhaps, its
charms, the Egyptian had spent all the glory of his
years without attaining the object of his desires. The
beauty of to-morrow succeeded the beauty of to-day,
and the shadows bewildered him in his pursuit of the
substance. When, two years before the present date,
i8o THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
he beheld lone, he saw, for the first time, one whom
he imagined he could love. He stood, then, upon that
bridge of life, from which man sees before him dis-
tinctly a wasted youth on the one side, and the dark-
ness of approaching age upon the other: a time in
which we are more than ever anxious, perhaps, to
secure ourselves, ere it be yet too late, whatever we
have been taught to consider necessary to the enjoy-
ment of a life of which the brighter half is gone.
With an earnestness and a patience which he had
never before commanded for his pleasures, Arbaces
had devoted himself to win the heart of lone. It did
not content him to love, he desired to be loved. In
this hope he watched the expanding youth of the
beautiful NeapoHtan ; and, knowing the influence that
the mind possesses over those who are taught to culti-
vate the mind, he had contributed willingly to form
the genius and enlighten the intellect of lone, in the
hope that she would be thus able to appreciate what
he felt would be his best claim to her affection ; viz.,
a character which, however criminal and perverted,
was rich in its original elements of strength and
grandeur. When he felt that character to be ac-
knowledged, he willingly allowed, nay, encouraged
her, to mix among the idle votaries of pleasure, in the
belief that her soul, fitted for higher commune, would
miss the companionship of his own, and that, in com-
parison with others,* she would learn to love herself.
He had forgot, that as the sunflower to the sun, so
youth turns to youth, until his jealousy of Glaucus
suddenly apprised him of his error. From that mo-
ment, though, as we have seen, he knew not the ex-
tent of his danger, a fiercer and more tumultuous
direction was given to a passion long controlled.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII i8i
Nothing kindles the fire of love like a sprinkling of
the anxieties of jealousy; it takes them a wilder, a
more resistless flame ; it forgets its softness ; it ceases
to be tender; it assumes something of the intensity
— of the ferocity — of hate.
Arbaces resolved to lose no further time upon
cautious and perilous preparations: he resolved to
, place an irrevocable barrier between himself and his
rivals: he resolved to possess himself of the person
of lone : not that in his present love, so long nursed
and fed by hopes purer than those of passion alone,
he would have been contented with that mere posses-
sion. He desired the heart, the soul, no less than the
beauty, of lone ; but he imagined that once separated
by a daring crime from the rest of mankind — once
bound to lone by a tie' that memory could not break,
she would be driven to concentrate her thoughts in
him — that his arts would complete his conquest, and
that according to the true moral of the Roman and
the Sabine, the empire obtained by force would be
cemented by gentler means. This resolution was yet
more confirmed in him by his belief in the prophecies
of the stars : they had long foretold to him this year,
and even the present month, as the epoch of some
dread disaster, menacing life itself. He was driven
to a certain and limited date. He resolved to crowd,
monarch-like, on his funeral pyre all that his soul held
most dear. In his own words, if he were to die, he
resolved to feel that he had lived, and that lone should
be his own.
i82 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
CHAPTER IX
WHAT BECOMES OF lONE IN THE HOUSE OF ARBACES. —
THE FIRST SIGNAL OF THE WRATH OF THE DREAD FOE.
When lone entered the spacious hall of the Egyp-
tian, the same awe which had crept over her brother
impressed itself also upon her ; there seemed to her as
to him something ominous and warning in the still
and mournful faces of those dread Theban monsters,
whose majestic and passionless features the marble
so well portrayed:
" Their look, with the reach of past ages, was wise,
And the soul of eternity thought in their eyes."
The tall ^Ethiopian slave grinned as he admitted
her, and motioned to her to proceed. Half-way up
the hall she was met by Arbaces himself, in festive
robes, which glittered with jewels. Although it was
broad day without, the mansion, according to the
practice of the luxurious, was artificially darkened,
and the lamps cast their still and odour-giving light
over the rich floors and ivory roofs.
" Beautiful lone ! " said Arbaces, as he bent to
touch her hand, " it is you that have eclipsed the day
— it is your eyes that light up the halls — it is your
breath which fills them with perfumes."
" You must not talk to me thus," said lone, smil-
ing : " you forget that your lore has sufficiently in-
structed my mind to render these graceful flatteries
to my person unwelcome. It was you who taught
me to disdain adulation: will you unteach your
pupil?"
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 183
There was something so frank and charming in the
manner of lone, as she thus spoke, that the Egyptian
was more than ever enamoured, and more than ever
disposed to renew the offence he had committed ; he,
however, answered quickly and gaily, and hastened
to renew the conversation.
He led her through the various chambers of a house,
which seemed to contain to her eyes, inexperienced
to other splendour than the minute elegance of Cam-
panian cities, the treasures of the world.
In the walls were set pictures of inestimable art, the
lights shone over statues of the noblest age of Greece.
Cabinets of gems, each cabinet itself a gem, filled up
the interstices of the columns; the most precious
woods lined the thresholds and composed the doors ;
gold and jewels seemed lavished all around. Some-
times they were alone in these rooms — sometimes
they passed through silent rows of slaves, who, kneel-
ing as she passed, proffered to her offerings of brace-
lets, of chains, of gems, which the Egyptian vainly
entreated her to receive.
" I have often heard," said she, wonderingly, " that
you were rich: but I never dreamed of the amount
of your wealth."
" Would I could coin it all," replied the Egyptian,
"into one crown, which I might place upon that
snowy brow ! "
" Alas ! the weight would crush me : I should be
a second Tarpeia," answered lone, laughingly.
" But thou dost not disdain riches, O lone ! they
know not what life is capable of who are not wealthy.
Gold is the great magician of earth — it realises our
dreams — it gives them the power of a god — there is
a grandeur, a sublimity, in its possession; it is the
mightiest, yet the most obedient of our slaves."
1 84 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The artful Arbaces sought to dazzle the young
Neapolitan by his treasures and his eloquence; he
sought to awaken in her the desire to be mistress of
what she surveyed: he hoped that she would con-
found the owner with the possessions, and that the
charms of his wealth would be reflected on himself.
Meanwhile, lone was secretly somewhat uneasy at the
gallantries which escaped from those lips, which, till
lately, had seemed to disdain the common homage
we pay to beauty: and with that delicate subtlety,
which woman alone possesses, she sought to ward off
shafts deliberately aimed, and to laugh or to talk away
the meaning from his warming language. Nothing
in the world is more pretty than that same species of
defence; it is the charm of the African necromancer
who professed with a feather to turn aside the winds.
The Egyptian was intoxicated and subdued by her
grace even more than by her beauty: it was with
difficulty that he suppressed his emotions; alas!
the feather was only powerful against the summer
breezes — it would be the sport of the storm.
Suddenly, as they stood in one hall, which was sur-
rounded by draperies of silver and white, the Egyp-
tian clapped his hands, and as if by enchantment, a
banquet rose from the floor — a couch or throne, with
crimson canopy, ascended simultaneously at the feet
of lone, — and at the same instant from behind the
curtains swelled invisible and softest music.
Arbaces placed himself at the feet of lone, — and
children, young and beautiful as Loves, ministered to
the feast.
The feast was over, the music sank into a low and
subdued strain, and Arbaces thus addressed his beauti-
ful g^est : —
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 185
" Hast thou never, in this dark and uncertain world
— hast thou never aspired, my pupil, to look beyond
— hast thou never wished to put aside the veil of
futurity, and to behold on the shores of Fate the
shadpwy images of things to be? For it is not the
past alone that has its ghosts : each event to come has
also its spectrum — its shade; when the hour arrives,
life enters it, the shadow becomes corporeal, and
walks the world. Thus, in the land beyond the grave
are ever two impalpable and spiritual hosts — ^the
things to be, the things that have been ! If by our
wisdom we can penetrate that land, we see the one as
the other, and learn, as / have learned, not alone the
mysteries of the dead, but also the destiny of the
living."
" As thou hast learned ! — can wisdom attain so
far?"
" Wilt thou prove my knowledge, lone, and behold
the representation of thine own fate? It is a drama
more striking than those of ^Eschylus : it is one I have
prepared for thee, if thou wilt see the shadows per-
form their part."
The Neapolitan trembled : she thought of Glaucus,
and sighed as well as trembled: were their destinies
to be united? Half incredulous, half believing, half
awed, half alarmed by the words of her strange host,
she remained for some moments silent, and then an-
swered,—
" It may revolt — it may terrify ; the knowledge of
the future will perhaps only embitter the present ! "
" Not so, lone. I have myself looked upon thy
future lot, and the ghosts of thy Future bask in the
garden of Elysium ; amidst the asphodel and the rose
they prepare the garlands of thy sweet destiny, and
1 86 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the Fates, so harsh to others, weave only for thee
the web of happiness and love. Wilt thou then come
and behold thy doom, so that thou mayest enjoy it
beforehand ? ''
Again the heart of lone murmured " Glaucus; *' she
uttered a half-audible assent ; the Egyptian rose, and
taking her by the hand, he led her across the ban-
quet-room— ^the curtains withdrew, as by magic
hands, and the music broke forth in a louder and
gladder strain; they passed a row of columns, on
either side of which fountains cast aloft th^ir fragrant
waters ; they descended by broad and easy steps into
a garden. The eve had commenced; the moon was
already high in heaven, and those sweet flowers that
sleep by day, and fill with ineffable odours the airs of
night, were thickly scattered amidst alleys cut through
the star-lit foliage ; — or, gathered in baskets, lay Hke
offerings at the feet of the frequent statues that
gleamed along their path.
" Whither wouldst thou lead me, Arbaces ? " said
lone, wonderingly.
" But yonder," said he, pointing to a small build-
ing which stood at the end of the vista. " It is a tem-
ple consecrated to the Fates — our rites require such
holy ground."
They passed into a narrow hall, at the end of which
hung a sable curtain. Arbaces lifted it ; lone entered,
and found herself in total darkness.
" Be not alarmed," said the Egyptian, " the light
will rise instantly." While he so spoke, a soft, and
warm, and gradual light diffused itself around ; as it
spread over each object, lone perceived that she was
in an apartment of moderate size, hung everywhere
with black; a couch with draperies of the same hue
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 187
was beside her. In the centre of the room was a
small altar, on which stood a tripod of bronze. At
one side, upon a lofty column of granite, was a colos-
sal head of the blackest marble, which she perceived,
by the crown of wheat-ears that encircled the brow,
represented the great Egyptian goddess. Arbaces
stood before the altar : he had laid his garland on the
shrine, and seemed occupied with pouring into the
tripod the contents of a brazen vase. Suddenly from
that tripod leaped into life a blue, quick, darting, ir-
regular flame ; the Egyptian drew back to the side of
lone, and muttered some words in a language un-
familiar to her ear; the curtain at the back of the altar
waved tremulously to and fro — it parted slowly, and
in the aperture which was thus made, lone beheld an
indistinct and pale landscape, which gradually grew
brighter and clearer as she gazed ; at length she dis-
covered plainly trees, and rivers, and meadows, and
all the beautiful diversity of the richest earth. At
length, before the landscape a dim shadow glided ; it
rested opposite to lone; slowly the same charm
seemed to operate upon it as over the rest of the
scene ; it took form and shape, and lo !— in its feature
and in its form lone beheld herself!
Then the scene behind the spectre faded away, and
was succeeded by the representation of a gorgeous
palace ; a throne was raised in the centre of its hall —
the dim forms of slaves and guards were ranged
around it, and a pale hand held over the throne the
likeness of a diadem.
A new actor now appeared ; he was clothed from
head to foot in a dark robe — ^his face was concealed
—he knelt at the feet of the shadowy lone — he clasped
her hand — ^he pointed to the throne, as if to invite her
to ascend it.
1 88 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The Neapolitan's heart beat violently. " Shall the
shadow disclose itself? " whispered a voice beside her
— ^the voice of Arbaces.
" Ah, yes ! " answered lone, softly.
Arbaces raised his hand — the spectre seemed to
drop the mantle that concealed its form — and lone
shrieked — it was Arbaces himself that thus knelt be-
fore her.
" This is, indeed, thy fate ! " whispered again the
Egyptian's voice in her ear ; " and thou art destined
to be the bride of Arbaces."
lone started — the black curtain closed over the
phantasmagoria: and Arbaces himself — the real, the
living Arbaces — was at h^r feet.
" Oh, lone ! " said he, passionately gazing upon
her; "listen to one who has long struggled vainly
with his love. I adore thee ! The Fates do not lie —
thou art destined to be mine — I have sought the
world around, and found none like thee. From my
youth upward I have sighed for such as thou art. I
have dreamed till I saw thee — I wake, and I behold
thee. Turn not away from me, lone; think not of
me as thou hast thought ; I am not that being — cold,
insensate, and morose, which I have seemed to thee.
Never woman had lover so devoted — so passionate
as I will be to lone. Do not struggle in my clasp:
see — I release thy hand. Take it from me if thou
wilt — ^well, be it so! But do not reject me, lone —
do not rashly reject — ^judge of the power over him
whom thou canst thus transform. I, who never knelt
to mortal being, kneel to thee. I, who have com-
manded fate, receive from thee my own. lone, trem-
ble not, thou art my queen — my goddess: — ^be my
bride ! All the wishes thou canst form shall be ful-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 189
filled. The ends of the earth shall minister to thee
— pomp, power, luxury, shall be thy slaves. Arbaces
shall have no ambition, save the pride of obeying
thee. lone, turn upon me those eyes — shed upon me
thy smile. Dark is my soul when thy face is hid from
it: — shine over me, my sun — ^my heaven — my day-
light ! — lone, lone — do not reject my love ! "
Alone, and in the power of this singular and fear-
ful man, lone was yet not terrified ; the respect of his
language, the softness of his voice, reassured her;
and, in her own purity, she felt protection. But she
was confused — ^astonished : it was some moments be-
fore she could recover the power of reply.
" Rise, Arbaces ! " said she at length ; and she re-
signed to him once more her hand, which she as
quickly withdrew again, when she felt upon it the
burning pressure of his lips. " Rise ! and if thou art
serious, if thy language be in earnest "
" If! " said he tenderly.
"Well, then, listen to me: you have been my
guardian, my friend, my monitor; for this new char-
acter I was not prepared; — ^think not," she added
quickly, as she saw his dark eyes glitter with the
fierceness of his passion — " think not that I scorn —
that I am not touched — ^that I am not honoured by
this homage ; but say^anst thou hear me calmly ? "
" Ay, though thy words were lightning, and could
blast me ! *'
"/ love another!'' said lone, blushingly, but in a
firm voice.
" By the gods — by hell ! " shouted Arbaces, rising
to his fullest height ; " dare not tell me that — dare not
mock me : — it is impossible ! — Whom hast thou seen
— ^who known ? Oh, lone ! it is thy woman's inven-
190 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
tion, thy woman's art that speaks — ^thou wouldst gain
time: I have surprised — I have terrified thee. Do
with me as thou wilt — say that thou lovest not me;
but siay not that thou lovest another ! "
" Alas ! " began lone ; and then, appalled before his
sudden and unlooked-for violence, she burst into
tears.
Arbaces came nearer to her — his breath glowed
fiercely on her cheek; he wound his arms round her
— she sprang from his embrace. In the struggle a
tablet fell from her bosom on the ground: Arbaces
perceived, and seized it — it was the letter that morn-
ing received from Glaucus. lone sank upon the
couch, half dead with terror.
Rapidly the eyes of Arbaces ran over the writing;
the Neapolitan did not dare to gaze upon him: she
did not see the deadly paleness that came over his
countenance — she marked not his withering frown,
nor the quivering of his lip, nor the convulsions that
heaved his breast. He read it to the end, and then,
as the letter fell from his hand, he said in a voice of
deceitful calmness, —
" Is the writer of this the man thou lovest? "
lone sobbed, but answered not.
" Speak ! " he rather shrieked than said.
" It is— it is I '*
" And his name — it is written here — ^his name is
Glaucus ! "
lone, clasping her hands, looked round as for suc-
cour or escape.
" Then hear me," said Arbaces, sinking his voice
into a whisper; "thou shalt go to thy tomb rather
than to his arms ! What ! thinkest thou Arbaces will
brQpk a rival such as this puny Greek ? What ! think-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 191
est thou that he has watched the fruit ripen to yield
it to another! Pretty fool — ^no! Thou art mine —
all— only mine: and thus — thus I seize and claim
thee ! " As he spoke, he caught lone in his arms ;
and in that ferocious grasp was all the energy — less
of love than of revenge.
But to lone despair gave supernatural strength;
she again tore herself from him — she rushed to that
part of the room by which she had entered — she half
withdrew the curtain — he seized her — ^again she broke
away from him — and fell, exhausted, and with a loud
shriek, at the base of the column which supported the
head of the Egyptian goddess. Arbaces paused for
a moment, as if to regain his breath ; and then once
more darted upon his prey.
At that instant the curtain was rudely torn aside,
the Egyptian felt a fierce and strong grasp upon his
shoulder. He turned — he beheld before him the
flashing eyes of Glaucus, and the pale, worn, but
menacing, countenance of Apaecides. " Ah," he mut-
tered, as he glared from one to the other, " what Fury
hath sent ye hither?'*
" Ate," answered Glaucus ; and he closed at once
with the Egyptian. Meanwhile, Apaecides raised his
sister, now lifeless, from the ground ; his strength, ex-
hausted by a mind long over-wrought, did not suffice
to bear her away, light and delicate though her shape ;
he placed her, therefore, on the couch, and stood over
her with a brandishing knife, watching the contest
between Glaucus and the Egyptian, and ready to
plunge his weapon in the bosom of Arbaces should
he be victorious in the struggle. There is, perhaps,
nothing on earth so terrible as the naked and un-
armed contest of animal strength, no weapon but
192 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
those which Nature supplies to rage. Both the an-
tagonists were now locked in each other's grasp — ^the
hand of each seeking the throat of the other — ^the face
drawn back — the fierce eyes flashing — the muscles
strained — the veins swelled — the lips apart — ^the teeth '
set; — both were strong beyond the ordinary power
of men, both animated by relentless wrath; they
coiled, they wound around each other; they rocked
to and fro — ^they swayed from end to end of their
confined arena — ^they uttered cries of ire and revenge ;
— ^they were now before the altar — now at the base
of the column where the struggle had commenced:
they drew back for breath — Arbaces leaning against
the column — Glaucus a few paces apart.
" O ancient goddess ! " exclaimed Arbarces, clasp-
ing the column, and raising his eyes toward the sacred
image it supported, "protect thy chosen, — ^proclaim
thy vengeance against this thing of an upstart creed,
who with sacrilegious violence profanes thy resting-
place, and assails thy servant."
As he spoke, the still and vast features of the god-
dess seemed suddenly to glow with life ; through the
black marble, as through a transparent veil, flushed
luminously a crimson and burning hue; around the
head played and darted coruscations of vivid light-
ning; the eyes became like balls of lurid fire, and
seemed fixed in withering and intolerable wrath upon
the countenance of the Greek. Awed and appalled
by this sudden and mystic answer to the prayer of his
foe, and not free from the hereditary superstitions of
his race, the cheeks of Glaucus paled before that
strange and ghastly animation of the marble. — His
knees knocked together, — he stood, seized with a di-
vine panic, dismayed, aghast, half unmanned before
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 193
his foe! Arbaces gave him not breathing time to
recover his stupor : " Die, wretch 1 " he shouted, in
a voice of thunder, as he sprang upon the Greek;
" the Mighty Mother claims thee as a living sacri-
fice ! " Taken thus by surprise in the first consterna-
tion of his superstitious fears, the Greek lost his foot-
ing— ^the marble floor was as smooth as glass — he
slid — ^he fell. Arbaces planted his foot on the breast
of his fallen foe. Apaecides, taught by his sacred pro-
fession, as well as by his knowledge of Arbaces, to
distrust all miraculous interpositions, had not shared
the dismay of his companion; he rushed forward, —
his knife gleamed in the air, — the watchful Egyptian
caught his arm as it descended, — one wrench of his
powerful hand tore the weapon from the weak grasp
of the priest, one sweeping blow stretched him to the
earth — with a loud and exulting yell Arbaces bran-
dished the knife on high. Glaucus gazed upon his
impending fate with unwinking eyes, and in the stern
and scornful resignation of a fallen gladiator; when,
at that awful instant, the floor shook under them with
a rapid and convulsive throe, — ^, mightier spirit than
that of the Egyptian was abroad! — a giant. and crush-
ing power, before which sunk into sudden impotence
his passion and his arts. It woke — it stirred — that
Dread Demon of the Earthquake — laughing to scorn
alike the magic of human guile and the malice of hu-
man wrath. As a Titan, on whom the mountains are
piled, it roused itself from the sleep of years, — it
moved on its tortured couch, — ^the caverns below
groaned and trembled beneath the motion of its limbs.
In the moment of his vengeance and his power the
self-prized demigod was humbled to his real clay.
Far and wide along the soil went a hoarse and rum-
13
194 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII'
bling sound, — the curtains of the chamber shook as at
the blast of a storm, — the altar rocked — the tripod
reeled, and, high over the place of contest, the column
trembled and waved from side to side, — the sable head
of the goddess tottered and fell from its pedestal; —
and as the Egyptian stooped above his intended vic-
tim, right upon his bended form, right between the
shoulder and the neck, struck the marble mass ! The
shock stretched him like the blow of death, at once,
suddenly, without sound or motion, or semblance of
life, upon the floor, apparently crushed by the very
divinity he had impiously animated and invoked !
" The Earth has preserved her children," said
Glaucus, staggering to his feet. " Blessed be the
dread convulsion ! Let us worship the providence of
the gods ! " He assisted Apaecides to rise, and then
turned upward the face of Arbaces ; it seemed locked
as in death; blood gushed from the Egyptian's lips
over his gKttering robes; he fell heavily from the
arms of Glaucus, and the red stream trickled slowly
along the marble. Again the earth shook beneath
their feet ; they were forced to cling to each other ; the
convulsion ceased as suddenly as it came; they tar-
ried no longer ; Glaucus bore lone lightly in his arms,
and they fled from the unhallowed spot. But scarce
had they entered the garden than they were met on
all sides by flying and disordered groups of women
and slaves, whose festive and glittering garments con-
trasted in mockery the solemn terror of the hour;
they did not appear to heed the strangers, — ^they were
occupied only with their own fears. After the tran-
quillity of sixteen years, that burning and treacherous
soil again menaced destruction ; they uttered but one
cry, " The earthquake ! the earthquake ! " and
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 195
passing unmolested from the midst of them, Apaecides
and his companions, without entering the house,
hastened down one of the alleys, passed a small open
gate, and there, sitting on a little mound over which
spread the gloom of the dark green aloes, the moon-
light fell on the bended figure of the blind girl, — ^she
was weeping bitterly.
BOOK III
'AXXJk, ^XdyOf
^aiyc fcoA^v* ri» yhp irorMiaonai tUrvxc^ 8a(fior,
Tq, x!^6vu^ 6* 'Eicarf , rkv Koi aKdhsuc^s rpofidovri,
*Epxofi^vcw ¥^K(f9»¥ a,¥h. r' iiploy koX fi4Xay eHfia.
Xaip\ 'Exdra SmnrA^i, jccU is t4\os ififiw ^aSci,
^dpfxeuca radd Ispdoura x^p^^ova fi'tir€ ti Klpxas,
M^rc ri MrfiftaSy /x^re (oyOas Ilepi/i^Saf.
Theocritus.
Now sacred moon — the mysteries of my song
To thee and hell-born Hecate belong.
Pale Hecate, who stalks o*er many a tomb,
And adds fresh horror to sepulchral gloom;
Whilst reeking gore distains the paths of death;
And bloodhounds fly the blasting of her breath.
Hail, Hecate! and give my rising spell •
Ev'n Perimeda's sorceries to excel :
Bid the strong witchery match ev'n Circe's skill,
And with Medea's venom'd fury fill.
Polwhele's Translation,
CHAPTER I
THE FORUM OF THE POMPEIANS ; — ^THE FIRST RUDE
MACHINERY BY WHICH THE NEW ERA OF THE WORLD
WAS WROUGHT.
It was early noon, and the forum was crowded alike
with the busy and the idle. As at Paris at this day,
so at that time in the cities of Italy, men lived almost
wholly out of doors : the public buildings, the forum,
the porticoes, the baths, the temples themselves
might be considered their real homes ; it was no won-
196
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 197
der that they decorated so gorgeously these favourite
places of resort — they felt for them a sort of domestic
affection as well as a public pride. And anirpated
was, indeed, the aspect of the forum of Pompeii at
that time 1 Along its broad pavement, composed of
large flags of marble^ were assembled various groups,
conversing in that energetic fashion which appropj*i-
ates a gesture to every word, and which is still the
characteristic of the people of the south. Here, in
seven stalls on one side the colonnade, sat the money-
changers, with their glittering heaps before them, and
merchants and seamen in various costumes crowding
round their stalls. On one side, several men in long
togas ^ were seen bustling up to a stately edifice,
where the magistrates administered justice; — these
were the lawyers, active, chattering, joking, and pun-
ning, as you' may find them at this day in Westmin-
ster. In the centre of the space, pedestals supported
various statues, of which the most remarkable was
the stately form of Cicero. Around the court ran a
regular and symmetrical colonnade of Doric archi-
tecture ; and there several, whose business drew them
early to the place, were taking the slight morning re-
past which made an Italian breakfast, talking vehe-
mently on the earthquake of the preceding night as
they dipped pieces of bread in their cups of diluted
wine. In the open space, too, you might perceive
various petty traders exercising the arts of their call-
ing. Here one man was holding out ribands to a fair
dame from the country; another man was vaunting
to a stout farmer the excellence of his shoes ; a third,
1 For the lawyers and the clients, when attending on their
patrons, retained the toga after it had fallen into disuse among
the rest of the citizens.
198 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
a kind of stall-restaurateur, still so ccmmon in the
Italian cities, was supplying many a hungry mouth
with hot messes from his small and itinerant stove,
while — contrast strongly typical of the mingled bustle
and intellect of the time— close by, a schoolmaster
was expounding to his puzzled pupils the elements of
the Latin grammar.^ A gallery above the portico,
which was ascended by small wooden staircases, had
also its throng; though, as here the immediate busi-
ness of the place was mainly carried on, its groups
wore a more quiet and serious air.
Every now and then the crowd below respectfully
gave way as some senator swept along to the Temple
of Jupiter (which filled up one side of the forum, and
was the senators' hall of meeting), nodding with os-
tentatious condescension to such of his friends or
clients as he distinguished amongst the throng.
Mingling amidst the gay dresses of the better orders
you saw the hardy forms of the neighbouring farmers,
as they made their way to the public granaries. Hard
by the temple you caught a view of the triumphal
arch, and the long street beyond swarming with in-
habitants ; in one of the niches of the arch a fountain
played, cheerily sparkling in the sunbeams ; and above
its cornice rose the bronzed and equestrian statue of
Caligula, strongly contrasting the gay summer skies.
Behind the stalls of the money-changers was that
building now called the Pantheon; and a crowd of
1 In the Museum at Naples is a picture little known, but
representing one side of the forum at Pompeii as then exist-
ing, to which I am much indebted in the present description.
It may afford a learned consolation to my younger readers to
know that the ceremony of hoisting (more honoured in the
breach than the observance) is of high antiquity, and seems
to have been performed with all legitimate and public vigour
in the forum of Pompeii.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 199
the poorer Pompeians passed through the small vesti-
bule which admitted to the interior, with panniers un-
der their arms, pressing on towards a platform, placed
between two columns, where such provisions as the
priests had rescued fronl sacrifice were exposed for
sale.
At' one of the public edifices appropriated to the
business of the city, workmen were employed upon
the columns, and you heard the noise of their labour
every now and then rising above the hum of the mul-
titude:— the columns are unfinished to this day!
All, then, united, nothing could exceed in variety
the costumes, the ranks, the manner, the occupations
of the crowd ; — nothing could exceed the bustle, the
gaiety, the animation, the flow and flush of life all
around. You saw there all the myriad signs of a
heated and feverish civilisation — where pleasure and
commerce, idleness and labour, avarice and ambition,
mingled in one g^lf their motley, rushing, yet har-
monious, streams.
Facing the steps of the Temple of Jupiter, with
folded arms, and a knit and contemptuous brow, stood
a man of about fifty years of age. His dress was re-
markably plain — not so much from its material, as
from the absence of all those ornaments which were
worn by the Pompeians of every rank — partly from
the love of show, partly, also, because they were
chiefly wrought into those shapes deemed most effi-
cacious in resisting the assaults of magic and the in-
fluence of the evil eye.^ His forehead was high and
bald ; the few locks that remained at the back of the
head were concealed by a sort of cowl, which made
a part of his cloak, to be raised or lowered at pleas-
1 See note (a) at the end.
200 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
ure, and was now drawn half-way over the head, as
a protection from the rays of the sun. The colour
of his garments was brown, no popular hue with the
Pompeians ; all the usual admixtures of scarlet or pur-
ple seemed carefully excluded. His belt, or girdle,
contained a small receptacle for ink, which hooked
on to the girdle, a stilus (or implement of writing),
and tablets of no ordinary size. What was rather
remarkable, the cincture held no purse, which was the
almost indispensable appurtenance of the girdle, even
when that purse had the misfortune to be empty !
It was not often that the gay and egotistical Pom-
peians busied themselves with observing the coun-
tenances and actions of their neighbours; but there
was that in the lip and eye of this bystander so re-
markably bitter and disdainful, as he surveyed the
religious procession sweeping up the stairs of the
temple, that it could not fail to arrest the notice of
many.
" Who IS yon cynic? ** asked a merchant of his com-
panion, a jeweller.
" It is Olinthus," replied the jeweller ; " a reputed
Nazarene."
The merchant shuddered. " A dread sect ! " said
he, in a whispered and fearful voice. " It is said that
when they meet at nights they always commence their
ceremonies by the murder of a new-bom babe : they
profess a community of goods, too — ^the wretches!
A community of goods! What would become of
merchants, or jewellers either, if such notions Were
in fashion ? "
"That is very true," said the jeweller; "besides
they wear no jewels — they mutter imprecations when
they see a serpent ; and at Pompeii all our ornaments
are serpentine."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 201
" Do but observe," said a third who was a fabricant
of bronze, " how yon Nazarene scowls at the piety of
the sacrificial procession. He is murmuring curses
on the temple, be sure. Do you know, Celcinus, that
this fellow, passing by my shop the other day, and
seeing me employed on a statue of Minerva, told me
with a frown that, had it been marble, he would have
broken it; but the bronze was too strong for him.
* Break a goddess ! ' said I, ' A goddess ! ' answered
the atheist ; * it is a demon — an evil spirit ! ' Then
he passed on his way cursing. Are such things to be
borne? What marvel that the earth heaved so fear-
fully last night, anxious to reject the atheist from her
bosom? — An atheist do I say? worse still — a scorner
of the Fine Arts ! Woe to us fabricants of bronze, if
such fdlows as this give the law to society 1"
" These are the incendiaries that burnt Rome un-
der Nero," groaned the jeweller.
While such were the friendly remarks provoked by
the air and faith of the Nazarene, Olinthus himself
became sensible of the effect he was producing; he
turned his eyes round, and observed the intent faces
of the accumulating throng, whispering as they
gazed; and surveying them for a moment with an
expression, first of defiance and afterwards of com-
passion, he gathered his cloak round him and passed
on, muttering audibly, " Deluded idolaters ! — did not
last night's convulsioH warn ye ? Alas 1 how will ye
meet the last day ? "
The crowd that heard these, boding words gave
them different interpretations, according to their dif-
ferent shades of ignorance and of fear ; all, however,
concurred in imagining them to convey some awful
imprecation. They regarded the Christian as the
202 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
enemy of mankind; the epithets they lavished upon
him, of which " Atheist " was the most favoured and
frequent, may serve, perhaps, to warn us, believers
of that same creed now triumphant, how we indulge
the persecution of opinion Olinthus then underwent,
and how we apply to those whose notions differ from
our own the terms at that day lavished on the fathers
of our faith.
As Olinthus stalked through the crowd, and gained
one of the more private places of egress from the
forum, he perceived gazing upon him a pale and ear-
nest countenance, which he was not slow to recog-
nise.
Wrapped in a pallium that partially concealed his
sacred robes, the young Apaecides surveyed the dis-
ciple of that new and mysterious creed, to which at
on$ time he had been half a convert.
" Is he, too, an impostor ? Does this man, so plain
and simple in life, in garb, in mien — does he too, like
Arbaces, make austerity the robe of the sensualist?
Does the veil of Vesta hide the vices of*the prosti-
tute ? "
Olinthus, accustomed to men of all classes, and
combining with the enthusiasm of his faith a pro-
found experience of his kind, guessed, perhaps, by
the index of the countenance, something of what
passed within the breast of the priest. He met the
survey of Apaecides with a steady eye, and a brow of
serene and open candour.
" Peace be with thee ! " said he, saluting Apaecides.
" Peace ! " echoed the priest, in so hollow a tone
that it Went at once to the heart of the Nazarene.
" In that wish," continued Olinthus, " all good
things are combined — without virtue thou canst not
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 203
have peace. Like the rainbow, Peace rests upon the
earth, but its arch is lost in heaven. Heaven bathes
it in hues of light — it springs up amidst tears and
clouds, — it is a reflection of the Eternal Sun, — it is
an assurance of calm — it is the sign of a great cov-
enant between Man and God. Such peace, O young
man ! is the smile of the soul ; it is an emanation from
the distant orb of immortal light. Peace be with
you ! ''
" Alas ! *' began Apaecides, when he caught the gaze
of the curious loiterers, inquisitive to know what could
possibly be the theme of conversation between a re-
puted Nazarene and a priest of Isis. He stopped
short, and then added in a low tone — " We cannot
converse here, I will follow thee to the banks of the
river; there is a walk which at this time is usually
deserted and solitary."
Olinthus bowed assent. He passed through the
streets with a hasty step, but a quick and observant
eye. Every now and then he exchanged a significant
glance, a sHght sign, with some passenger, whose
garb usually betokened the wearer to belong to the
humbler classes ; for Christianity was in this the type
of all other and less mighty revolutions — ^the grain of
mustard-seed was in the hearts of the lowly. Amidst
the huts of poverty and labour, the vast stream which
afterwards poured its broad waters beside the cities
and palaces of earth took its neglected source.
204 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
CHAPTER II
THE NOONDAY EXCURSION ON THE CAMPANIAN SEAS.
" But tell me, Glaucus," said lone, as they glided
down the rippling Sarnus in their boat of' pleasure,
" how earnest thou with Apaecides to my rescue from
that bad man?"
" Ask Nydia yonder," answered the Athenian,
pointing to the blind girl, who sat at a little distance
from them, leaning pensively over her lyre — " she
must have thy thanks, not we. It seems that she
came to my house, and, finding me from home, sought
thy brother in his temple ; he accompanied her to Ar-
baces ; on their way they encountered me, with a com-
pany of friends, whom thy kind letter had given me
a spirit cheerful enough to join. Nydia's quick ear
detected my voice — a few words sufficed to make me
the companion of Apaecides; I told not my associ-
ates why I left them — could I trust thy name to their
light tongues and gossiping opinion? — Nydia led us
to the garden gate, by which we afterwards bore thee
— ^we entered, and were about to plunge into the
mysteries of that evil house, when we heard thy cry
in another direction. Thou knowest the rest."
lone blushed deeply. She then raised her eyes to
those of Glaucus, and he felt all the thanks she could
not utter. " Come hither, my Nydia," said she, ten-
derly to the Thessalian. " Did I not tell thee that
thou shouldst be my sister and friend? Hast thou
not already been more? — my guardian, my pre-
server ! "
" It is nothing," answered Nydia coldly, and with-
out stirring.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 205
" Ah ! I forgot," continued lone, — " I should come
to thee ; " and she moved along the benches till she
reached the place where Nydia sat, and flinging her
arms caressingly round her, covered her cheeks with
kisses.
Nydia was that morning paler than her wont, and
her countenance grew even more wan and colourless
as she submitted to the embrace of the beautiful Nea-
politan. " But how camest thou, Nydia," whispered
lone, " to surmise so faithfully the danger I was ex-
posed to ? Didst thou know aught of the Egyptian ? "
" Yes, I knew of his vices."
"And how?"
" Noble lone, I have been a slave to the vicious —
those whom I served were his minions."
" And thou hast entered his house since thou knew-
est so well that private entrance ? "
" I have played on my lyre to Arbaces," answered
the Thessalian, with embarrassment.
" And thou hast escaped the contagion from which
thou hast saved lone?" returned the Neapolitan, in
a voice too low for the ear of Glaucus.
" Noble lone, I have neither beauty nor station ;
I am a child and a slave, and blind. The despicable
are ever safe."
It was with a pained, and proud, and indignant tone
that Nydia made this humble reply; and lone felt
that she only wounded Nydia by pursuing the sub-
ject. She remained silent, and the bark now floated
into the sea.
" Confess that I was right, lone," said Glaucus,
"in prevailing on thee not to waste this beautiful
noon in thy chamber — confess that I was right."
" Thou wert right, Glaucus," said Nydia, abruptly.
206 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
*' The dear child speaks for thee," returned the
Athenian. " But permit me to move opposite to
thee, or our light boat will be overbalanced."
So saying, he took his seat exactly opposite to
lone, and leaning forward, he fancied that it was her
breath, and not the winds of summer that flung fra-
grance over the sea.
" Thou wert to tell me," said Glaucus, " why for so
many days thy door was closed to me ? "
" Oh, think of it no more ! " answered lone, quick-
ly; "I gave my ear to what I now know was the
malice of slander."
" And my slanderer was the Egyptian ? "
lone's silence assented to the question.
" His motives are sufficiently obvious."
" Talk not of him," said lone, covering her face
with her hands, as if to shut out his very thought.
" Perhaps he may be already by the banks of the
slow Styx," resumed Glaucus ; " yet in that case we
should probably have heard of his death. Thy
brother, methinks, hath felt the dark influence of his
gloomy soul. When we arrived last night at thy
house he left me abruptly. Will he ever vouchsafe
to be my friend ? "
" He is consumed with some secret care," answered
lone, tearfully. " Would that we could lure him from
himself! Let us join in that tender office."
" He shall be my brother," returned the Greek.
" How calmly," said lone, rousing herself from the
gloom into which her thoughts of Apsecides had
plunged her — " how calmly th6 clouds seem to repose
in heaven ; and yet you tell me, for I knew it not my-
self, that the earth shook beneath us last night."
" It did, and more violently, they say, than it has
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 207
done since the great convulsion sixteen years ago.
The land we live in yet nurses mysterious terror ; and
the reig^ of Pluto, which spreads beneath our burn-
ing fields, seems rent with unseen commotion. Didst
thou not feel the earth quake, Nydia, where thou wert
seated last night? and was it not the fear that it oc-
casioned thee that made thee weep ? "
" I felt the soil creep and heave beneath me, like
some monstrous serpent," answered Nydia ; " but as
I saw nothing, I did not fear : I imagined the convul-
sion to be a spell of the Egyptian's. They say he has
power over the elements."
" Thou art a Thessalian, my Nydia," replied Glau-
cus, " and hast a national right to believe in magic."
" Magic ! — who doubts it ? " answered Nydia, sim-
ply : " dost thou ? "
" Until last night (when a necromantic prodigy did
indeed appall me), methinks I was not credulous in
any other magic save that of love ! " said Glaucus, in
a tremulous voice, and fixing his eyes on lone.
" Ah ! " said Nydia, with a sort of shiver, and she
awoke mechanically a few pleasing notes from her
lyre ; the sound suited well the tranquillity of the wa-
ters, and the sunny stillness of the noon.
"Play to us, dear Nydia," said Glaucus, — "play,
and give us one of thine old Thessalian songs:
whether it be of magic or not, as thou wilt — let it, at
least, be of love ! "
" Of love ! " repeated Nydia, raising her large, wan-
dering eyes, that ever thrilled those who saw them
with a mingled fear and pity; you could never fa-
miliarise yourself to their aspect: so strange did it
seem that those dark wild orbs were ignorant of the
day, and either so fixed was their deep mysterious
2o8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
gaze, or so restless and perturbed their glance, that
you felt, when you encountered them, that same
vague, and chilling, and half-preternatural impression,
which comes over you in the presence of the insane,
— of those who, having a life outwardly like your own,
have a life within life — dissimilar — unsearchable —
unguessed !
" Will you that I should sing of love ? " said she,
fixing those eyes upon Glaucus.
" Yes," replied he, looking down.
She moved a little way from the arm of lone, still
cast round her, as if that soft embrace embarrassed ;
and placing her light and graceful instrument on her
knee, after a short prelude, she sang the following
strain : —
NYDIA'S LOVE-SONG
" The Wind and the Beam loved the Rose,
And the Rose loved one;
For who recks the wind where it blows?
Or loves not the sun?
11.
** None knew whence the humble Wind stole,
Poor sport of the skies —
None dreamt that the Wind had a soul,
In its mournful sighs!
in.
*' Oh, happy Beam ! how canst thou prove
That bright love of thine?
In thy light is the proof of thy love,
Thou hast but — ^to shine!
IV.
** How its love can the Wind reveal ?
Unwelcome its sigh;
Mute — mute to its Rose let it steal —
Its proof is — to die ! "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 209
«(
Thou singest but sadly, sweet girl/' said Glaucus ;
thy youth only feels as yet the dark shadow of Love ;
far other inspiration doth he wake when he himself
bursts and brightens upon us."
I sing as I was taught/' replied Nydia, sighing.
Thy master was love-crossed then — ^try thy hand
at a gayer air. Nay, girl, give the instrument to me."
As Nydia obeyed, her hand touched his, and with
that slight touch, her breast heaved — her cheek
flushed. lone and Glaucus, occupied with each
other, perceived not those signs of strange and pre-
mature emotions, which preyed upon a heart that,
nourished by imagination, dispensed with hope.
And now, broad, blue, bright before them, spread
_ that halcyon sea, fair as at this moment, seventeen
centuries from that date, I behold it rippling on the
same divinest shores. Clime that yet enervates with
a soft and Circean spell — ^that moulds us insensibly,
mysteriously, into harmony with thyself, banishing
the thought of austerer labour, the voices of wild am-
bition, the contests and the roar of life ; filling us with
gentle and subduing dreams, making necessary to
our nature that which is its least earthly portion, so
that the very air inspires us with the yearning and
thirst of love. Whoever visits thee seems to leave
earth and its harsh cares behind — to enter by the
Ivory Gate into the Land of Dreams. The young
and laughing hours of the present— the Hours, those
children of Saturn, which he hungers ever to devour,
seem snatched from his grasp. The past — ^the future
— ^are forgotten; we enjoy but the breathing time.
Flower of the world's garden — Fountain of Delight
— Italy of Italy — ^beautiful, benign Campania! — vain
14
2IO THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
were, indeed, the Titans, if on this spot they yet
struggled for another heaven ! Here, if God meant
this working-day life for a perpetual holiday, who
would not sigh to dwell for ever — asking nothing,
hoping nothing, fearing nothing, while thy skies
shone over him — while thy seas sparkled at his feet
— ^while thine air brought him sweet messages from
the violet and the orange — and while the heart, re-
signed to — ^beating with — ^but one emotion, could find
the lips and the eyes, which flatter it (vanity of van-
ities !) that love can defy custom, and be eternal ?
It was then in this clime — on those seas, that the
Athenian gazed upon a face that might have suited
the nymph, the spirit of the place : feeding his eyes
on the changeful roses of that softest cheek, happy
beyond the happiness of common life, loving, and
knowing himself beloved.
In the tale of human passion, in past ages, there
is something of interest even in the remoteness of the
time. . We love to feel within us the bond which
unites the most distant eras — men, nations, customs
perish; the affections are immortal! — ^they are the
sympathies which unite the ceaseless generations.
The past lives again, when we look upon its emotions
— ^it lives in our own ! That which was, ever is ! The
magician's gift that revives the dead — that animates
the dust of forgotten graves, is not in the author's
skill — it is in the heart of the reader !
Still vainly seeking the eyes of lone, as, half down-
cast, half averted, they shunned his own, the Athe-
nian, in a low and soft voice, thus expressed the feel-
ings inspired by happier thoughts than those which
had coloured the song of Nydia.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 2ii
THE SONG OF GLAUCUS
I.
" As the bark Hoateth on o'er the summer-lit sea,
Floats my heart o*er the deeps of its passion for thee :
All lost in the space, without terror it glides,
For bright with thy soul is the face of the tides.
Now heaving, now hush'd, is that passionate ocean,
As it catches thy smile or thy sighs;
And the twin-stars ^ that shine on the wanderer's devotion.
Its guide and its god — are thine eyes !
II.
" The bark may go down, should the cloud sweep above
For its being is bound to the light of thy love.
As thy faith and thy smile are its life and its joy.
So thy frown or thy change are the storms that destroy.
Ah! sweeter to sink while the sky is serene.
If time hath a change for thy heart!
If to live be to weep over what thou hast been.
Let me die while I know what thou art ! "
As the last words of the song trembled over the
sea, lone raised her looks, — they met those of her
lover. Happy Nydia! — happy in thy affliction, that
thou couldst not see that fascinated and charmed gaze,
that said so much — ^that made the eye the voice of
the soul — ^that promised the impossibility of change !
But, though the Thessalian could not detect that
gaze, she divined its meaning by their silence — ^by
their sighs. She pressed her hands tightly across
her breast, as if to keep down its bitter and jealous
thoughts; and then she hastened to speak — for that
silence was intolerable to her.
" After all, O Glaucus ! " said she, " there is nothing
very mirthful in your strain 1 "
^ In allusion to the Dioscuri, or twin-stars, the guardian
deity of the seamen.
212 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Yet I meant it to be so, when I took up thy lyre,
pretty one. Perhaps happiness will not permit us to
be mirthful."
" How strange is it," said lone, changing a con-
versation which oppressed her while it charmed, —
" that for the last several days yonder cloud has hung
motionless over Vesuvius! Yet not indeed motion-
less, for sometimes it changes its form ; and now me-
thinks it looks like some vast giant with an arm out-
stretched over the city. Dost thou see the likeness
— or is it only to my fancy ? "
" Fair lone ! I see it also. It is astonishingly
distinct. The giant seems seated on the brow of the
mountain, the different shades of the cloud appear to
form a white robe that sweeps over its vast breast
and limbs ; it seems to gaze with a steady face upon
the city below, to point with one hand, as thou sayest,
over its glittering streets, and to raise the other (dost
thou note it ?) towards the higher heaven. It is like
the ghost of some huge Titan brooding over the
beautiful world he lost; sorrowful for the past — ^yet
with something of menace for the future."
" Could that mountain have any connection with the
last night's earthquake? They say that, ages ago, al-
most in the earliest era of tradition, it gave forth fires
as -Stna still. Perhaps the flames yet lurk and dart
beneath."
" It is possible," said Glaucus, musingly.
" Thou sayest thou art slow to believe in magic,"
said Nydia suddenly. " I have heard that a potent witch
dwells amongst the scorched caverns of the mountain,
and yon cloud may be the dim shadow of the demon*
she confers with."
" Thou art full of the romance of thy native Thes-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 213
saly," said Glaucus ; " and a strange mixture of sense
and all conflicting superstitions/'
" We are ever superstitious in the dark," replied
Nydia. " Tell me/' she added, after a slight pause,
" tell me, O Glaucus ! do all that are beautiful resemble
each other ? They say you are beautiful, and lone also.
Are your faces then the same ? I fancy not, yet it ought
to be so/'
" Fancy no such grievous wrong to lone," answered
Glaucus, laughing. " But we do not, alas ! resemble
each other, as the homely and the beautiful sometimes
do. lone's hair is dark, mine light ; lone's eyes are —
what colour, lone? I cannot see, turn them to me.
Oh, are they black? no, they are too soft. Are they
blue? no, they are too deep: they change with every
ray of the sun — I know not their colour: but mine,
sweet Nydia, are gray, and bright only when lone
shines on them ! lone's cheek is "
" I do not understand one word of thy description,"
interrupted Nydia, peevishly. " I comprehend only
that vou do not resemble each other, and I am glad
of it.'''
" Why, Nydia ? " said lone.
Nydia coloured slightly. " Because," she replied,
coldly, " I have always imagined you under different
forms, and one likes to know one is right."
" And what hast thou imagined Glaucus to resem-
ble ? " asked lone, softly.
Music ! " replied Nydia, looking down.
Thou art right," thought lone.
"And what likeness hast thou ascribed to lone?"
" I cannot tell yet," answered the blind girl ; " I have
not yet known her long enough to find a shape and sign
for my guesses."
214 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" I will tell thee, then," said Glaucus, passionately ;
" she is like the sun that warms — like the wave that
refreshes."
" The sun sometimes scorches, and the wave some-
times drowns," answered Nydia.
" Take then these roses," said Glaucus ; " let their
fragrance suggest to thee lone."
" Alas, the roses will fade ! " said the Neapolitan,
archly.
Thus conversing, they wore away the hours; the
lovers, conscious only of the brightness and smiles of
love; the blind girl feeling only its darkness — its
tortures; — ^the fierceness of jealousy and its woe!
And now, as they drifted on, Glaucus once more re-
sumed the lyre, and woke its strings with a careless
hand, to a strain, so wildly and gladly beautiful, that
even Nydia was aroused from her reverie, and uttered
a cry of admiration.
" Thou seest, my child," cried Glaucus, " that I can
yet redeem the character of love's music, and that I
was wrong in saying happiness could not be gay. Lis-
ten, Nydia ! listen, dear lone ! and hear
THE BIRTH OF LOVEi
I.
" Like a Star in the seas above,
Like a Dream to the waves of sleep-
Up — up — ^THE INCARNATE LOVE —
She rose from the charmed deep !
And over the Cyprian Isle
The skies shed their silent smile ;
And the Forest's green heart was rife
With the stir of the gushing life —
* Suggested by a picture of Venus rising from the sea, taken
from Pompeii, and now in the Museum at Naples.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 2r5
The life that had leaped to birth,
In the veins of the happy earth!
Hail ! oh, hail I
The dimmest sea-cave below thee,
The farthest sky-arch above,
In their innermost stillness know thee:
And heave with the Birth of Love!
Gale! soft Gale!
Thou comest on thy silver winglets,
From thy home in the tender west ; *
Now fanning her golden ringlets.
Now hush'd on her heaving breast
And afar on the murmuring sand,
The Seasons wait hand in hand
To welcome thee, Bilrth Divine,
To the earth which is henceforth thine.
II.
" Behold ! how she kneels in the shell,
Bright pearl in its floating cell !
Behold! how the shell's rose-hues
The cheek and the breast of snow,
And the delicate limbs suffuse
Like a blush, with a bashful glow.
Sailing on, slowly sailing
O'er the wild water;
All hail ! as the fond light is hailing
Her daughter,
All hail !
We are thine, all thine evermore:
Not a leaf on the laughing shore,
Not a wave on the heaving sea,
Nor a single sigh
In the boundless sky.
But is vow'd evermore to thee!
* According to the ancient mythologists, Venus rose from
the sea near Cyprus, to which island she was wafted by the
Zephyrs. The Seasons waited to welcome her on the sea-
shore.
2i5 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
IIL
" And thou, my beloved one — thou,
As I gaze on thy soft eyes now,
Methinks from their depths I view,
The Half Birth born anew;
Thy lids are the gentle cell
Where the young Love blushing lies ;
See! she breaks from the mystic shell,
She comes from thy tender eyes !
Hail! all hail!
She comes, as she came from the sea.
To my soul as it looks on thee;'
She comes, she comes !
She comes, as she came from the sea,
To my soul as it looks on thee !
Hail ! all hail ! "
CHAPTER III
THE CONGREGATION.
Followed by Apaecides, the Nazarene gained the
side of the Sarnus. That river, which now has shrunk
into a petty stream, then rushed gaily into the sea, cov-
ered with countless vessels, and reflecting on its waves
the gardens, the vines, the palaces, and the temples of
Pompeii. From its more noisy and frequented banks,
Olinthus directed his steps to a path which ran amidst
a shady vista of trees, at the distance of a few paces
from the river. This walk was in the evening a favour-
ite resort of the Pompeians, but during the heat and
business of the day was seldom visited, save by some
groups of playful children, some meditative poet, or
some disputative philosophers. At the side farthest
from the river, frequent copses of box interspersed
the more delicate and evanescent foliage, and these
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 217
were cut into a thousand quaint shapes, sometimes into
the forms of fauns and satyrs, sometimes into the
mimicry of Egyptian pyramids, sometimes into the let-
ters that composed the name of a popular or eminent
citizen. Thus the false taste is equally ancient as the
pure ; and the retired traders of Hackney and Padding-
ton a century ago, were little aware, perhaps, that in
their tortured yews and sculptured box, they found
their models in the most polished period of Roman an-
tiquity, in the gardens of Pompeii, and the villas of the
fastidious Pliny.
This walk now, as the noonday sun shone perpen-
dicularly through the checkered leaves, was entirely
deserted; at least no other forms than those of Olin-
thus and the priest infringed upon the solittide. They
sat themselves on one of the benches, placed at inter-
vals between the trees, and facing the faint breeze that
came languidly from the river, whose waves danced
and sparkled before them; — a singular and contrasted
pair ; the believer in the latest — ^the priest of the most
ancient — ^worship of the world !
Since thou leftst me so abruptly," said Olinthus,
hast thou been happy ? has thy heart found content-
ment under these priestly robes ? hast thou, still yearn-
ing for the voice of God, heard it whisper comfort to
thee from the oracles of Isis ? That sigh, that averted
countenance, give me the answer my soul predicted."
" Alas ! " answered Apsecides, sadly, " thou seest be-
fore thee a wretched and distracted man! From my
childhood upward I have idolised the dreams of vir-
tue ! I have envied the holiness of men who, in caves
and lonely temples, have been admitted to the com-
panionship of beings above the world; my days have
been consumed with feverish and vague desires; my
(t
2i8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
nights with mocking but solemn visions. Seduced by
the mystic prophecies of an impostor, I have indued
these robes: — my nature (I confess it to thee frankly)
— my nature has revolted at what I have seen and been
doomed to share in! Searching after truth, I have
become but the minister of falsehoods. On the even-
ing in which we last met, I was buoyed by hopes
created by that same impostor, whom I ought already
to have better known. I have — ^no matter — no mat-
ter! suffice it, I have added perjury and sin to rash-
ness and to sorrow. The veil is now rent for ever from
my eyes ; I behold a villain where I obeyed a demigod ;
the earth daikens in my sight; I am in the deepest
abyss of gloom; I know not if there be gods above;
if we are the things of chance ; if beyond the bounded
and melancholy present there is annihilation or an
hereafter — tell me, then, thy faith; solve me these
doubts, if thou hast indeed the power ! "
" I do not marvel," answered the Nazarene, " that
thou hast thus erred^ or that thou art thus sceptic.
Eighty years ago there was no assurance to man of
God, or of a certain and definite future beyond the
grave. New laws are declared to him who has ears —
a heaven, a true Olympus, is revealed to him who has
eyes — heed then, and listen."
And with all the earnestness of man believing ar-
dently himself, and zealous to convert, the Nazarene
poured forth to Apaecides the assurances of Scriptural
promise. He spoke first of the sufferings and miracles
of Christ — ^he wept as he spoke : he turned next to the
glories of the Saviour's ascension — to the clear pre-
dictions of Revelation. He described that pure and
unsensual heaven destined to the virtuous — those fires
and torments that were the doom of guilt.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 219
The doubts which spring up to the mind of later
reasoners, in the immensity of the sacrifice of God to
man, were not such as would occur to an early heathen.
He had been accustomed to believe that the gods had
lived upon earth, and taken upon themselves the
forms of men; had shared in human passions, in hu-
man labours, and in human misfortunes. What was
the travail of his own Alcmena's son, whose altars now
smoked with the incense of countless cities, but a toil
for the human race? Had not the great Dorian
Apollo expiated a mystic sin by descending to the
-g^ave? Those who were the deities of heaven had
been the lawgivers or benefactors on earth, and grati-
tude had led to worship. It seemed therefore, to the
heathen, a doctrine neither new nor strange, that
Christ had been sent from heaven, that an immortal
had indued mortality, and tasted the bitterness of
death. And the end for which He thus toiled and thus
suffered — how far more glorious did it seem to Apae-
cides than that for which the deities of old had vis-
ited the nether world, and passed through the gates
of death ! Was it not worthy of a God to descend to
these dim valleys, in order to clear up the clouds gath-
ered over the dark mount beyond — to satisfy the
doubts of sages — ^to convert speculation into certainty
— ^by example to point out the rules of life — ^by revela-
tion to solve the enigma of the grave — and to prove
that the soul did not yearn in vain when it dreamed
of an immortality? In this last was the great argu-
ment of those lowly men destined to convert the earth.
As nothing is more flattering to the pride and the
hopes of man than the belief in a future state, so noth-
ing could be more vague and confused than the notions
of the heathen sages upon that mystic subject. Apae-
220 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
cides had already learned that the faith of the philoso-
phers was not that of the herd; that if they secretly
professed a creed in some diviner power, it was not
the creed which they thought it wise to impart to the
community. He had already learned, that even the
priest ridiculed what he preached to the people — ^that
the notions of the few and the many were never united.
But, in this new faith, it seemed to him that philoso-
pher, priest, and people, the expounders of the religion
and its followers, were alike accordant: they did not
speculate and debate upon immortality, they spoke of
}t as a thing certain and assured ; the magnificence of
the promise dazzled him — its consolations soothed.
For the Christian faith made its early converts among
sinners ; many of its fathers and its martyrs wer-e those
who had felt the bitterness of vice, and who were there-
fore no longer tempted by its false aspect from the
paths of an austere and uncompromising virtue. All
the assurances of this healing faith invited to repent-
ance— they were peculiarly adapted to the bruised and
sore of spirit; the very remorse which Apaecides felt
for his late excesses, made him incline to one who
found holiness in that remorse, and who whispered of
the joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.
"Come," said the Nazarene, as he perceived the
effect he had produced, " come to the humble hall in
which we meet — a select and a chosen few ; listen there
to our prayers; note the sincerity of our repentant
tears; mingle in our simple sacrifice — not of victims,
nor of garlands, but offered by white-robed thoughts
upon the altar of the heart. The flowers that we lay
there are imperishable — they bloom over us when we
are no more; nay, they^ accompany us beyond the
grave, they spring up beneath our feet in heaven, they
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 221
delight us with an eternal odour, for they are of the
soul, they partake of its nature; these offerings are
temptations overcome, and sins repented. Come, oh
come! lose not another moment; prepare already for
the great, the awful journey, from darkness to light,
from sorrow to bliss, from corruption to immortality !
This is the day of the Lord the Son, a day that we have
set apart for our devotions. Though we meet usually
at night, yet some amongst us are gathered together
even now. What joy, what triumph, will be with us
all, if we can bring one stray lamb into the sacred
fold ! "
There seemed to Apaecides, so naturally pure of
heart, something ineffably generous and benign in that
spirit of conversion which animated Olinthus — a spirit
that found its own bliss in the happiness of others —
that sought in its wide sociality to make companions
for eternity. He was touched, softened, and subdued.
He was not in that mood which can bear to be left
alone; curiosity, too, mingled with his purer stimu-
lants— he was anxious to see those rites of which so
many dark' and contradictory rumours were afloat.
He paused a moment, looked over his garb, thought of
Arbaces, shuddered with horror, lifted his eyes to the
broad brow of the Nazarene, intent, anxious, watchful,
— ^but for his benefit, for his salvation ! He drew his
cloak round him, so as wholly to conceal his robes, and
said, " Lead on, I follow thee."
Olinthus pressed his hand joyfully, and then de-
scending to the river side, hailed one of the boats that
plied there constantly; they entered it; an awning
overhead, while it sheltered them from the sun,
screened also their persons from observation : they rap-
idly skimmed the wave. From one of the boats that
222 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
passed them floated a soft music, and its prow was
decorated with flowers — it was gliding towards the sea.
" So," said Olinthus, sadly, " unconscious and mirth-
ful in their delusions, sail the votaries of luxury into
the great ocean of storm and shipwreck ! we pass them,
silent and unnoticed, to gain the land."
Apaecides, lifting his eyes, caught through the aper-
ture in the awning a glimpse of the face of one of the
inmates of that gay bark — it was the face of lone.
The lovers were embarked on the excursion at which
we have been made present. The priest sighed, and
once more sank back upon his seat. They reached the
shore where, in the suburbs, an alley of small and mean
houses stretched towards the bank ; they dismissed the
boat, landed, and Olinthus, preceding the priest,
threaded the labyrinth of lanes, and arrived at last at
the closed door of a habitation somewhat larger than
its neighbours. He knocked thrice — ^the door was
opened and closed again, as Apaecides followed his
guide across the threshold.
They passed a deserted atrium, and gained an inner
chamber of moderate size, which, when the door was
closed, received its only light from a small window cut
over the door itself. But, halting at the threshold of
this chamber, and knocking at the door, Olinthus said,
" Peace be with you ! " A voice from within returned,
" Peace with whom ? " " The faithful ! " answered
Olinthus, and the door opened ; twelve or fourteen per-
sons were sitting in a semi-circle, silent, and seemingly
absorbed in thought, and opposite to a crucifix rudely
carved in wood.
They lifted up their eyes when Olinthus entered,
without speaking ; the Nazarene himself, before he ac-
costed them, knelt suddenly down, and by his moving
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 223
lips, and his eyes fixed steadfastly on the crucifix, Apae-
cides saw that he prayed inly. This rite performed,
Olinthus turned to the congregation — " Men and
brethren," said he, " start not to behold amongst you
a priest of Isis ; he hath sojourned with the blind, but
the Spirit hath fallen on him — ^he desires to see, to hear,
and to understand."
" Let him," said one of the assembly ; j^nd Apaecides
beheld in the speaker a man still younger than him-
self, of a countenance equally worn and pallid, of an
eye which equally spoke of the restless and fiery opera-
tions of a working mind.
" Let him," repeated a second voice, and he who thus
spoke was in the prime of manhood ; his bronzed skin
and Asiatic features bespoke him a son of Syria — ^he
had been a robber in his youth.
" Let him," said a third voice ; and the priest, again
turning to regard the speaker, saw an old man with a
long grey beard whom he recognised as a slave to the
wealthv Diomed.
" Let him," repeated simultaneot^ly the rest — men
who, with two exceptions, were evidently of the in-
ferior ranks. In these exceptions, Apaecides noted an
officer of the guard, and an Alexandrian merchant.
" We do not," recommenced Olinthus — " we do not
bind you to secrecy; we impose on you no oaths (as
some of our weaker brethren would do) not to betray
us. It is true, indeed, that there is no absolute law
against us ; but the multitude, more savage than their
rulers, thirst for our lives. So, my friends, when
Pilate would have hesitated, it was the people who
shouted ' Christ to the Cross ! ' But we bind you not
to our safety — ^no ! Betray us to the crowd — impeach,
calumniate, malign us if you will : we are above death.
224 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
we should walk cheerfully to the den of the Hon, or
the rack of the torturer — we can trample do^^n the
darkness of the grave, and what is death to a criminal
is eternity to the Christian."
A low and applauding murmur ran through the as-
sembly.
"Thou comest. amongst us as an examiner, mayest
thou remain a convert ! Our religion ? you behold it !
Yon cross our sole image, yon scroll the mysteries of
our Caere and Eleusis! Our morality? it is in our
lives ! — sinners we all have been ; who now can accuse
us of a crime? we have baptised ourselves from the
past. Think not that this is of us, it is of God. Ap-
proach, Medon," beckoning to the old slave who had
spoken third for the admission of Apaecides, " thou art
the sole man amongst us who is not free. But in
heaven, the last shall be first : so with us. Unfold your
scroll, read and explain."
Useless would it be for us to accompany the lecture
of Medon, or the comments of the congregation. Fa-
miliar now are thQ3e doctrines, then strange and hew.
Eighteen centuries have left us little to expound upon
the lore of Scripture or the life of Christ. To us, too,
there would seem little congenial in the doubts that oc-
curred to a heathen priest, and little learned in the an-
swers they receive from men uneducated, rude, and
simple, possessing only the knowledge that they were
greater than they seemed.
There was one thing that greatly touched the Nea-
politan. When the lecture was concluded, they heard
a very gentle knock at the door; the password was
given, and replied to ; the door opened, and two young
children, the eldest of whom might have told its
seventh year, entered timidly; they were the children
\->'
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 225
of the master of the house, that dark and hardy Syrian,
whose youth had been spent in pillage and bloodshed.
The eldest of the congregation (it was that old slave)
opened to them his arms; they fled to the shelter —
they crept to his breast — and his hard features smiled
as he caressed them. And then these bold and fervent
men, nursed in vicissitude, beaten by the rough winds
of life — ^men of mailed and impervious fortitude, ready
to affront a world, prepared for torment and armed
for death — ^men, who presented all imaginable contrast
to the weak nerves, the light hearts, the tender fra-
gility of childhood, crowded round the infants, smooth-
ing their rugged brows and composing their bearded
lips to kindly and fostering smiles; and then the old
man opened the scroll, and he taught the infants to re-
peat after him that beautiful prayer which we still
dedicate to the Lord, and still teach to our children;
and then he told them, in simple phrase, of God's love
to the young, and how not a sparrow falls but His eye
sees it. This lovely custom of infant initiation was
long cherished by the early Church, in memory of the
words which said, " Suffer little children to come unto
me, and forbid them not ; " and was perhaps the origin
of the superstitious calumny which ascribed to the
Nazarenes the crime which the Nazarene, when vie*
torious, attributed to the Jew, viz. the decoying chil^
dren to hideous rites, at which they were secretly im-
molated.
And the stern paternal penitent seemed to feel in the
innocence of his children a return into early life — life
ere yet it sinned: he followed the motion of thdr
young lips with an earnest gaze ; he smiled as they re-
peated, with hushed and reverent looks, the holy
words; and when the lesson was done, and they ran,
15
226 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
released, and gladly to his knee, he clasped them to his
breast, kissed them again and again, and tears flowed
fast down his cheek — ^tears, of which it would have
been impossible to trace the source, so mingled they
were with joy and sorrow, penitence and hate— remorse
for himself and love for them !
Something, I say, there was in this scene which
peculiarly affected Apaecides ; and, in truth, it is diffi-
cult to conceive a ceremony more appropriate to the
religion of benevolence, more appealing to the house-
hold and every-day affections, striking a more sensi-
tive chord in the human breast.
It was at this time that an inner door opened gently,
and a very old man entered the chamber, leaning on a
staff. At his presence, the whole congregation rose;
there was an expression of deep affectionate respect
upon every countenance ; and Apaecides, gazing on his
countenance, felt attracted towards him by an irresis-
tible sympathy. No man ever looked upon that face
without love; for there had dwelt the smile of the
Deity, the incarnation of divinest love ; — and the glory
of the smile had never passed away.
" My children, God be with you ! " said the old man,
stretching his arms ; and as he spoke the infants ran to
his knee. He sat down, and they nestled fondly to his
bosom. It was beautiful to see that mingling of the
extremes of life — the rivers gushing from their early
source — ^the majestic stream gliding to the ocean of
eternity! As the light of declining day seems to
mingle earth and heaven, making the outline of each
scarce visible, and blending the harsh mountain-tops
with the sky, even so did the smile of that benign old
age appear to hallow the aspect of those around, to
blend together the strong distinctions of varying years,
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 227
and to diffuse over infancy and manhood the light of
that heaven into which it must so soon vanish and be
lost.
" Father," said Olinthus, " thou on whose form the
miracle of the Redeemer worked; thou who wert
snatched from the grave to become the living witness
of His mercy and His power ; behold ! a stranger in our
meeting — a new lamb gathered to the fold ! "
" Let me bless him," said the old man ; the throng
gave way. Apaecides approached him as by an in-
stinct: he fell on his knees before him — the old man
laid his hand on the priest's head, and blessed him, but
not aloud. As his lips moved, his eyes were upturned,
and tears — those tears that good men only shed in the
hope of happiness to another — flowed fast down his
cheeks.
The children were on either side of the convert ; his
heart was theirs — he had become as one of them — to
enter into the kingdom of Heaven.
CHAPTER IV
THE STREAM OF LOVE RUNS ON — WHITHER?
Days are like years in the love of the young, when
no bar, no obstacle, is between their hearts — when the
sun shines, and the course runs smooth — when their
love is prosperous and confessed. lone no longer con-
cealed from Glaucus the attachment she felt for him,
and their talk now was only of their love. Over the
rapture of the present the hopes of the future glowed
like the heaven above the gardens of spring. They
went in their trustful thoughts far down the stream of
228 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
time ; they laid out the chart of their destiny to come ;
they suffered the light of to-day to suffuse the mor-
row. In the youth of their hearts it seemed as if care,
and change, and death, were as things unknown. Per-
haps they loved each other the more because the con-
dition of the world left to Glaucus no aim and no wish
but love; because the distractions common in free
states to men's affections existed not for the Athenian ;
because his country wooed him not to the bustle of
civil life; because ambition furnished no counterpoise
to love: and, therefore, over their schemes and their
projects, love only reigned. In the iron age they im-
agined themselves of the golden, doomed only to live
and to love.
To the superficial observer, who interests himself
only in characters strongly marked and broadly col-
oured, both the lovers may seem of too slight and com-
monplace a mould: in the delineation of characters
purposely subdued,. the reader sometimes imagines that
there is a want of character ; perhaps, indeed, I wrong
the real nature of these two lovers by not painting more
impressively their stronger individualities. But in
dwelling so much on their bright and bird-like exist-
ence, I am influenced almost insensibly by the fore-
thought of the changes that await them, and for which
they were so ill prepared. It was this very softness and
gaiety of life that contrasted most strongly the vicis-
situdes of their coming fate. For the oak without fruit
or blossom; whose hard and rugged heart is fitted for
the storm, there is less fear than for the delicate
branches of the myrtle, and the laughing clusters of the
vine.
They had now advanced far into August — the next
month their marriage was fixed, and the threshold of
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEll 229
Glaucus was already wreathed with garlands; and
nightly, by the door of lone, he poured forth the rich
libations. He existed no longer for his gay compan-
ions; he was ever with lone. In the mornings they
beguiled the sun with music : in the evenings they for-
sook the crowded haunts of the gay for excursions on
the water, or along the fertile and vine-clad plains that
lay beneath the fatal mount of Vesuvius. The earth
shook no more ; the lively Pompeians forgot even that
there had gone forth so terrible a warning of their ap-
proaching doom. Glaucus imagined that convulsion,
in the vanity of his heathen religion, an especial inter-
position of the gods, less in behalf of his own safety
than that of lone. He offered up the sacrifices of grati-
tude at the temples of his faith ; and even the altar of
Isis was covered with his votive garlands ; — as to the
prodigy of the animated marble, he blushed at the effect
it had produced on him. He believed it, indeed, to have
been wfought by the magic of man ; but the result con-
vinced him that it betokened not the anger of a god-
dess.
Of Arbaces, they heard only that he still lived;
stretched on the bed of suffering, he recovered slowly
from the effect of the shock he had sustained ; he left
the lovers unmolested — but it was only to brood over
the hour and the method of revenge.
Alike in their mornings at the house of lone, and in
their evening excursions, Nydia was usually their con-
stant, and often their sole companion. They did not
guess the secret fires which consumed her : the abrupt
freedom with which she mingled in their conversation
— ^her capricious and often her peevish moods found
ready indulgence in the recollection of the service they
owed her, and their compassion for her affliction. They
230 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
felt an interest in her, perhaps the greater and more
affectionate from the very strangeness and wayward-
ness of her nature, her singular alternations of pas-
sion and softness — the mixture of ignorance and genius
— of delicacy and rudeness— of the quick humours of
the child, and the proud calmness of the woman. Al-
though she refused to accept of freedom, she was con-
stantly suffered to be free ; she went where she listed :
no curb was put either on her words or actions; thfey
felt for one so darkly fated, and so susceptible of every
wound, the same pitying and compliant indulgence the
mother feels for a spoiled and sickly child, — dreading
to impose authority, even where they imagined it for
her benefit. She availed herself of this license by re-
fusing the companionship of the slave whom they
wished to attend her. With the slender staff by which
she guided her steps, she went now, as in her former
unprotected state, along the populous streets: it was
almost miraculous to perceive how quickly and how
dexterously she threaded every crowd, avoiding every
danger, and could find her benighted way through the
most intricate windings of the city. But her chief de-
light was still in visiting the few feet of ground which
made the garden of Glaucus ; — in tending the flowers
that at least repaid her love. Sometimes she entered
the chamber where he sat, and sought a conversation,
which she nearly always broke off abruptly — for con-
versation with Glaucus only tended to one subject —
lone; and that name from his lips inflicted agony upon
her. Often she bitterly repented the service she had
rendered to lone ; often she said inly, " If she had
fallen, Glaucus could have loved her no longer ; *' and
then dark and fearful thoughts crept into her breast.
She had not experienced fully the trials that were in
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 231
store for her, when she had been thus generous. She
had never before been present when Glaucus and lone
were together ; she had never heard that voice so kind
to her, so much softer to another. The shock that
crushed her heart with the tidings that Glaucus loved,
had at first only saddened and benumbed ; — ^by degrees
jealousy took a wilder and fiercer shape ; it partook of
hatred — it whispered revenge. As you see the wind
only agitate the green leaf upon the bough, while the
leaf which has lain withered and seared on the ground,
bruised and trampled upon till the sap and life are gone,
is suddenly whirled aloft — now here — now there —
without stay and without rest ; so the love which visits
the happy and the hopeful hath but freshness on its
wings ! its violence is but sportive. But the heart that
hath fallen from the green things of life, that is with-
out hope, that hath no summer in its fibres, is torn and
whirled by the same wind that but caresses its brethren ;
— it hath no bough to cling to — it is dashed from path
to path — ^till the winds fall, and it is crushed into the
mire for ever.
The friendless childhood of Nydia had hardened
prematurely her character; perhaps the heated scenes
of profligacy through which she had passed, seemingly
unscathed, had ripened her passions, though they had
not sullied her purity. The orgies of Burbo might only
have disgusted, the banquets of the Egyptian might
only have terrified, at the moment ; but the winds that
pass unheeded over the soil leave seeds behind them.
As darkness, too, favours the imagination, so, perhaps,
her very blindness contributed to feed with wild and
delirious visions the love of the unfortunate girl. The
voice of Glaucus had been the first that had sounded
musically to her ear; his kindness made a deep im-
232 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
pression upon her mind ; when he had left Pompeii in
the former year, she had treasured up in her heart every
word he had uttered ; and when any one told her that
this friend and patron of the poor flower-girl was the
most brilliant and most graceful of the young revellers
of Pompeii, she had felt a pleasing pride in nursing his
recollection. Even the task which she imposed upon
herself, of tending his flowers, served to keep him in
her mind; she associated him with all that was most
charming to her impressions ; and when she had re-
fused to express what image she fancied lone to re-
semble, it was partly, perhaps, that whatever was bright
and soft in nature she had already combined with the
thought of Glaucus. If any of my readers ever loved
at an age which they would now smile to remember —
an age in which fancy forestalled the reason, let them
say whether that love, among all its strange and com-
plicated delicacies, was not above all other and later
passions, susceptible of jealousy? I seek not here the
cause : I know that it is commonly the fact.
When Glaucus returned to Pompeii, Nydia had told
another year of life; that year, with its sorrows, its
loneliness, its trials, had greatly developed her mind;
and when the Athenian drew her unconsciously to his
breast, deeming her still in soul as in years a child —
when he kissed her smooth cheek, and wound his arm
round her trembling frame, Nydia felt suddenly, and
as by revelation, that those feelings she had long and
innocently cherished were of love. Doomed to be res-
cued from tyranny by Glaucus — doomed to take shelter
under his roof — doomed to breathe, but for so brief a
time, the same air — and doomed in the first rush of a
thousand happy, gratefjil, delicious sentiments of an
overflowing heart, to hear that he loved another ; to be
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 233
commissioned to that other, the messenger, the minis-
ter ; to feel all at once that utter nothingness which she
was — which she ever must be, but which, till then, her
young mind had not taught her — that utter nothing-
ness to him who was all to her ; what wonder that, in
her wild and passionate soul, all the elements jarred
discordant ; that if love reigned over the whole, it was
not the love which is born of the more sacred and soft
emotions? Sometimes she dreaded only lest Glaucus
should discover her secret; sometimes she felt indig-
nant that it was not suspected ; it was the sign of con-
tempt— could he imagine that she presumed so far?
Her feelings to lone ebbed and flowed with every hour ;
now she loved her because he did ; now she hated her
for the same cause. There were moments when she
could have murdered her unconscious mistress; mo-
ments when she could have laid down her life for her.
These fierce ' and tremulous alternations of passion
were too severe to be borne long. Her health gave
way, though she felt it not — her cheek paled — her step
grew feebler — ^tears came to her eyes more often, and
relieved her less.
One morning, when she repaired to her usual task
in the garden of the Athenian, she found Glaucus under
the columns of the peristyle, with a merchant of the
town; he was selecting jewels for his destined bride.
He had already fitted up her apartment ; the jewels he
bought that day were placed also within it — they were
never fated to grace the fair form of lone; they may
be seen at this day among the disinterred treasures of
Pompeii, in the chambers of the studio at Naples.^
" Come hither, Nydia ; put down thy vase, and come
' Several bracelets, chains, and jewels, were found in the
house.
234 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
hither. Thou must take this chain from me — ^stay —
there, I have put it on. — There, Servilius, does it not
become her ? "
"Wonderfully!" answered the jeweller; for jewel-
lers were well-bred and flattering men, even at that
day. " But when these earrings glitter in the ears of
the noble lone, then, by Bacchus ! you will see whether
my art adds anything to beauty."
" lone?" repeated Nydia, who had hitherto acknowl-
edged by smiles and blushes the gift of Glaucus.
" Yes," replied the Athenian, carelessly toying with
the gems ; " I am choosing a present for lone, but there
are none worthy of her."
He was startled as he spoke by an abrupt gesture of
Nydia ; she tore the chain violently from her neck, and
dashed it on the ground.
" How is this ? What, Nydia, dost thou not like the
bauble ? art thou offended ? "
"You treat me ever as a slave and as a child," re-
plied the Thessalian, with a breast heaving with ill-
suppressed sobs, and she turned hastily away to the
opposite corner of the garden.
Glaucus did not attempt to follow, or to soothe ; he
was offended ; he continued to examine the jewels and
to comment on their fashion — to object to this and to
praise that, and finally to be talked by the merchant
into buying all ; the safest plan for a lover, and a plan
that any one will do right to adopt — provided always
that he can obtain an lone !
When he had completed his purchase and dismissed
the jeweller, he retired into his chamber, dressed,
mounted his chariot, and went to lone. He thought no
more of the blind girl or her offence ; he had forgotten
both the one and the other.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 235
He spent the forenoon with his beautiful Neapolitan,
repaired thence to the baths, supped (if, as we have
said before, we can justly so translate the three o'clock
coena of the Romans) alone, and abroad, for Pompeii
had its restaurateurs : — and returning home to change
his dress ere he again repaired to the house of lone, he
passed the peristyle, but with the absorbed reverie and
absent eyes of a man in love, and did not note the form
of the poor blind girl, bending exactly in the same place
where he had left her. But though he saw her not, her
ear recognised at once the sound of his step. She had
been counting the moments to his return. He had
scarcely entered his favourite chamber, which opened
on the peristyle, and seated himself musingly on his
couch, when he felt his robe timorously touched, and,
turning, he beheld Nydia kneeling before him, and
holding up to him a handful of flowers — a gentle and
appropriate peace-offering; — her eyes, darkly upheld
to his own, streamed with tears.
" I have offended thee," said she, sobbing, " and for
the first time. I would die rather than cause thee a
moment's pain — say that thou wilt forgive me. See!
I have taken up the chain ; I have put it on ; I will never
part from it — it is thy gift."
" My dear Nydia," returned Glaucus, and raising
her, he kissed her forehead, " think of it no more ! But
why, my child, wert thou so suddenly angry? T could
not divine the cause."
" Do not ask ! " said she, colouring violently. " I am
a thing full of faults and humours ; you know I am but
a child — ^you say so often ; is it from a chiid that you
can expect a reason for every folly ? "
" But, prettiest, you will soon be a child no more ;
and if you would have us treat you as a woman you
236 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
must learn to govern these singular impulses and gales
of passion. Think not I chicle : no, it is for your happi-
ness only I speak."
" It is true," said Nydia, " I must learn to govern
myself. I must hide, I must suppress, my heart. This
is a woman's task and duty; methinks her virtue is
hypocrisy."
" Self-control is not deceit, my Nydia," returned the
Athenian ; " and that is the virtue necessary alike to
man and to woman, it is the true senatorial toga, the
badge of the dignity it covers."
" Self-control ! self-control ! Well, well, what you
say is right ! When I listen to you, Glaucus, my wildest
thoughts grow calm and sweet, and a delicious serenity
falls over me. Advise, ah! guide me ever, my pre-
server ! "
" Thy affectionate heart will be thy best guide,
Nydia, when thou hast learned to regulate its feelings."
" Ah ! that will be never," sighed Nydia, wiping
away her tears.
Say not so : the first effort is the only difficult one."
I have made many first efforts," answered Nydia,
innocently. " But you, my Mentor, do you find it so
easy to control yourself? Can you conceal, can you
even regulate your love for lone ? "
" Love ! dear Nydia : ah ! that is quite another mat-
ter," answered the young preceptor.
" I thought so," returned Nydia, with a melancholy
smile. " Glaucus, wilt thou take my poor flowers ? Do
with them as thou wilt — thou canst give them to lone,"
added she, with a little hesitation.
" Nay, Nydia," answered Glaucus, kindly, divining
something of jealousy in her language, though he im-
agined it only the jealousy of a vain and susceptible
ft
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 237
child ; " I will not give thy pretty flowers to any one.
Sit here and weave them into a garland ; I will wear it
this night : it is not the first those delicate fingers have
woven for me."
The poor girl delightedly sat down beside Glaucus.
She drew from her girdle a ball of the many-coloured
threads, or rather slender ribands, used in the weav-
ing of garlands, and which (for it was her professional
occupation) she carried constantly with her, and be-
gan quickly and gracefully to commence her task.
Upon her young cheeks the tears were already dried,
a faint but happy smile played round her lips ; — child-
like, indeed, she was sensible only of the joy of the
present hour: she was reconciled to Glaucus: he had
forgiven her — she was beside him — ^he played caress-
ingly with her silken hair — his breath fanned her cheek,
— lone, the cruel lone, was not by — none other de-
manded, divided, his care. Yes, she was happy and
forgetful ; it was one of the few moments in her brief
and troubled life that it was sweet to treasure, to recall.
As the butterfly, allured by the winter sun, basks for a
little while in the sudden light, ere yet the wind awakes
and the frost comes on, which shall blast it before the
eve, — she rested beneath a beam, which, by contrast
with the wonted skies, was not chilling ; and the instinct
which should have warned her of its briefness, bade
her only gladd<^ in its smile.
" Thou hast beautiful locks," said Glaucus. " They
were once, I ween well, a mother's delight."
Nydia sighed ; it would seem that she had not been
born a slave ; but she ever shunned the mention of her
parentage, and, whether obscure or noble, certain it is
that her birth was never known by her benefactors,
nor by any one in those distant shores, even to the last.
238 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The child of sorrow and of mystery, she came and went
as some bird that enters our chamber for a moment ; we
see it flutter for a while before us, we know not whence
it flew or to what region it escapes.
Nydia sighed, and after a short pause, without an-
swering the remark, said, —
" But do I weave too many roses in my wreath, Glau-
cus ? They tell me it is thy favourite flower."
" And ever favoured, my Nydia, be it by those who
have the soul of poetry : it is the flower of love, of fes-
tivals ; it is also the flower we dedicate to silence and
to death ; it blooms on our brows in life, while life be
worth the having; it is scattered above our sepulchre
when we are no more."
" Ah ! would," said Nydia, " instead of this perish-
able wreath, that I could take thy web from the hand of
the Fates, and insert the roses there! "
" Pretty one ! thy wish is worthy of a voice so at-
tuned to song ; it is uttered in the spirit of song ; and,
whatever my doom, I thank thee."
" Whatever thy doom ! is it not already destined to
all things bright and fair? My wish was vain. The
Fates will be as tender to thee as I should."
" It might not be so, Nydia, were it not for love !
While youth lasts, I may forget my country for a while.
But what Athenian, in his graver manhood, can think
of Athens as she was, and be contented that he is happy,
while she is fallen? — fallen, and for ever? "
And why for ever ? "
As ashes cannot be rekindled — as love once dead
can never revive, so freedom departed from a people
is never regained. But talk we not of these matters
unsuited to thee."
" To me, oh I thou errest. I, too, have my sighs for
«
it
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 239
Greece ; my cradle was rocked at the foot of Olympus ;
the gods have left the mountain, but their traces may
be seen — seen in the hearts of their worshippers, seen
in the beauty of their clime : they tell me it is beauti-
ful, and / have felt its airs, to which even these are
harsh — its sun, to which these skies are chill. Oh!
talk to me of Greece ! Poor fool that I am, I can com-
prehend thee ! and methinks, had I yet lingered on those
shores, had I been a Grecian maid whose happy fate it
was to love and to be loved, I myself could have armed
my lover for another Marathon, a new Plataea. Yes,
the hand that now weaves the roses should have woven
thee the olive crown ! "
" If such a day could come ! " said Glaucus, catching
the enthusiasm of the blind Thessalian, and half ris-
ing.— " But no ! the sun has set, and the night only bids
us be forgetful, — and in forgetf ulness be gay : — weave
still the roses ! "
But it was with a melancholy tone of forced gaiety
that^the Athenian uttered the last words: and sinking
into a gloomy reverie, he was only wakened from it, a
few minutes afterwards, by the voice of Nydia, as she
sang in a low tone the following words, which he had
once taught her :
THE APOLOGY FOR PLEASURE
I.
Who will assume the bays
That the hero wore?
Wreaths on the Tomb of Days
Gone evermore! /
Who shall disturb the brave,
Or one leaf on their holy grave?
The laurel is vowed to them,
Leave the bay on its sacred stem!
But this, the rose, the fading rose,
Alike for slave and freeman grows.
»
I'
240 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
n.
If Memory sit beside the dead
With tombs her only treasure;
If Hope is lost and Freedom fled,
The more excuse for Pleasure,
Come, weave the wreath, the roses weave,
The rose at least is ours:
To feeble hearts our fathers leave,
In pitying scorn, the flowers!
III.
On the summit, worn and hoary,
Of Phyle's solemn hill,
The tramp of the brave is still!
And still in the saddening Mart,
The pulse of that mighty heart,
J Whose very blood was glory!
Glaucopis forsakes her own.
The angry gods forget us;
But yet, the blue streams along,
Walk the feet of the silver Song!
And the night-bird wakes the moon;
And the bees in the blushing noon
Haunt the heart of the old Hymettus.
We are fallen, but not forlorn.
If something is left to cherish;
As Love was the earliest born,
So love is the last to perish.
IV.
Wreathe then the roses, wreathe.
The Beautiful still is ours.
While the stream shall flow and the sky shall glow.
The Beautiful still is ours!
Whatever is fair, or soft, or bright,
In the lap of day or the arms of night.
Whispers our soul of Greece— of Greece.
And hushes our care with a voice of peace.
Wreathe then the roses, wreathe!
■
They tell me of earlier hours;
And I hear the heart of my country breathe
From the lips of the stranger's flowers.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 241
CHAPTER V
nydia encounters julia. — interview with the
heathen sister and converted brother. — ^an
Athenian's notion of Christianity.
" What happiness to lone ! what bliss to be ever by
'^the side of Glaucus, to hear his voice ! — ^And she too
can see him I "
Such was the soliloquy of the blind girl, as she
walked alone and at twilight to the house of her new
mistress, whither Glaucus had already preceded her.
Suddenly she was interrupted in her fond thoughts by
a female voice.
" Blind flower-girl, whither goest thou ? There is no
pannier under thine arm ; hast thou sold a)l thy flow-
ers?"
The person thus accosting Nydia was a lady of a
handsome but a bold and unmaidenly countenance: it
was Julia, the daughter of Diomed. Her veil was half
raised as she spoke ; she was accompanied by Diomed
himself, and by a slave carrying a lantern before them
— the merchant and his daughter were returning home
from a supper at one of their neighbours'.
"Dost thou not remembier my voice?" continued
Julia. " I am the daughter of Diomed the wealthy."
" Ah ! forgive me ; yes, I recall the tones of your
voice. No, noble Julia> I have no flowers to sell."
" I heard that thou wert purchased by the beautiful
Greek Glaucus ; is that true, pretty slave ? " asked Julia.
" I serve the Neapolitan, lone," replied Nydia,
evasively.
" Ah ! and it is true, then "
16
(t
242 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Come, come ! " interrupted Diomed, with his cloak
up to his mouth ; " the night grows cold ; I cannot stay
here while you prate to that blind girl : come, let her
follow you home, if you wish to speak to her."
** Do, child," said Julia, with the air of one not ac-
customed to be refused ; " I have much to ask of thee :
come."
" I cannot this night, it grows late," answered Nydia.
I must be at home ; I am not free, noble Julia."
What, the meek lone will chide thee? — Ay, I
doubt not she is a second Thalestris. But come, then,
to-morrow: do — remember I have been thy friend of
old."
" I will obey thy wishes," answered Nydia ; and
Diomed again impatiently summoned his daughter;
she was obliged to proceed with the main question she
had desired to put to Nydia unasked.
Meanwhile we return to lone. The interval of time
that had elapsed that day between the first and second
visit of Glaucus had not been too gaily spent : she had
received a visit from her brother. Since the night he
had assisted in saving her from the Egyptian, she had
not before seen him.
Occupied with his own thoughts, thoughts of so se-
rious and intense a nature, — the young priest had
thought little of his sister; in truth, men perhaps of
that fervent order of mind which is ever aspiring above
earth, are but little prone to the earthlier affections;
and it had been long since Apaecides had sought those
soft and friendly interchanges of thought, those sweet
confidences, which in his earlier youth had bound him
to lone, and which are so natural to that endearing
connection which existed between them.
lone, however, had not ceased to regret his estrange-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 243
ment: she attributed it at present to the engrossing
duties of his severe fraternity. And often, amidst all
her bright hopes, and her new attachment to her be-
trothed— often, when she thought of her brother's brow
prematurely furrowed, his unsmiling lip, and bended
frame, she sighed to think that the service of the gods
could throw so deep a shadow over that earth which
the gods created.
But this day when he visited her there was a strange
calmness on his features, a more quiet and self-pos-
sessed expression in his sunken eyes, than she had
marked for years. This apparent improvement was
but momentary — it was a false calm, which the least
breeze could ruffle.
" May the gods bless thee, my brother ! " said she,
embracing him.
" The gods ! Speak not thus vaguely ; perchance
there is but one God ! "
" My brother ! "
** What if the sublime faith of the Nazarene be true ?
What if God be a monarch — One — Invisible — Alone?
What if these numerous, countless deities, whose altars
fill the earth, be but evil demons, seeking to wean us
from the ti'ue creed ? This may be the case, lone ! "
" Alas ! can we believe it ? or if we believed, would
it not be a melancholy faith ? " answered the Neapoli-
tan. " What ! all this beautiful world made only hu-
man!— the mountain disenchanted of its Oread — ^the
waters of their Nymph — that beautiful prodigality of
faith, which makes everything divine, consecrating the
meanest flowers, bearing celestial whispers in the faint-
est breeze — wouldst thou deny this, and make the earth
mere dust and clay ? No, Apaecides ; all that is bright-
est in our hearts is that very credulity which peoples
the universe with gods."
244 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
lone answered as a believer in the poesy of the old
mythology would answer. We may judge by that re-
ply how obstinate and hard the contest which Chris-
tianity had to endure among the heathens. The Grace-
ful Superstition was never silent; every, the most
household, action of their lives was entwined with it,
— it was a portion of life itself, as the flowers are a
part of the thyrsus. At every incident they recurred
to a god, every cup of wine was prefaced by a libation :
the very garlands on their threshold were dedicated to
some divinity; their ancestors themselves, made holy,
presided as Lares over their hearth and hall. So
abundant was belief with them, that in their own
climes at this hour, idolatry has never thoroughly been
out rooted ; it changes but its objects of worship ; it ap-
peals to innumerable saints where once it resorted to
divinities; and it pours its crowds, in listening rever-
ence, to oracles at the shrines of St. Januarius or St.
Stephen, instead of to those of Isis or Apollo.
But these superstitions were not to the early Chris-
tians the object of contempt so much as of horror.
They did not believe, with the quiet scepticism of the
heathen philosopher, that the gods were inventions of
the priests ; nor even, with the vulgar, that, according
to the dim light of history, they had been mortals like
themselves. They imagined the heathen divinities to
be evil spirits — ^they transplanted to Italy and to
Greece the gloomy demons of India and the East ; and
in Jupiter or in Mars they shuddered at the representa-
tive of Moloch or of Satan.^
^ In Pompeii, a rough sketch of Pluto delineates that fearful
deity in the shape we at present ascribe to the devil, and
decorates him with the paraphernalia of horns and a tail. But,
in all probability, it was from the mysterious Pan, the haunter
of solitary places, the inspirer of vague and soul-shaking ter-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 245
Apaecides had not yet adopted formally the Christian
faith, but he was already on the brink of it. He al-
ready participated in the doctrines of Olinthus — ^he
already imagined that the lively imaginations of the
heathen were the suggestions of the arch-enemy of
mankind. The innocent and natural answer of lone
made him shudder. He hastened to reply vehemently,
and yet so confusedly, that lone feared for his reason
more than she dreaded his violence.
" Ah, my brother ! *' said she, " these hard duties of
thine have shattered thy very sense. Come to me, Apae-
cides, my brother, my own brother ; give me thy hand,
let me wipe the dew from thy brow;— chide me not
now, I understand thee not ; think only that lone could
not offend thee ! "
" lone," said Apaecides, drawing her towards him,
and regarding her tenderly, " can I think that this
beautiful form, this kind heart, may be destined to an
eternity of torment ? "
" Dii meliora ! the gods forbid ! " said lone, in the
customary form of words by which her contemporaries
thought an omen might be averted.
The words, and still more the superstition they im-
plied, wounded the ear of Apaecides. He rose, mutter-
ing to himself, turned from the chamber, then, stop-
ping half way, gazed wistfully on lone, and extended
his arms.
lone flew to them in joy ; he kissed her earnestly, and
then he said, —
" Farewell, my sister ! when we next meet, thou
mayst be to me as nothing ; take thou, then, this em-
rors, that we took the vulgar notion of the outward likeness
of the fiend ; it corresponds exactly to the cloven-footed Satan.
And in the lewd and profligate rites of Pan, Christians might
well imagine they traced the deception of the devil.
246 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
brace — full yet of all the tender reminiscences of child-
hood, when faith and hope, creeds, customs, interests,
objects, were the same to us. Now, the tie is to be
broken I "
With these strange words he left the house.
The great and severest trial of the primitive Chris-
tians was indeed this ; their conversion separated them
from their dearest bonds. They could not associate
with beings whose commonest actions, whose com-
monest forms of speech, were impregnated with idol-
atry. They shuddered at the blessing of love, to their
ears it was uttered in a demon's name. This, their
misfortune, was their strength ; if it divided them from
the rest of the world, it was to unite them proportion-
ally to each other. They were men of iron who
wrought forth the Word of God, and verily the bonds
that bound them were of iron also !
Glaucus found lone in tears ; he had already assumed
the sweet privilege to console. He drew from her a
recital of her interview with her brother; but in her
confused account of language, itself so confused to
one not prepared for it, he was equally at a loss with
lone to conceive the intentions or the meaning of Apae-
cides.
" Hast thou ever heard much," asked she, " of this
new sect of the Nazarenes of which my brother
spoke ? "
" I have often heard enough of the votaries,*' re-
turned Glaucus; "but of their exact tenets know I
naught, save that in their doctrine there seemeth some-
thing preternaturally chilling and morose. They live
apart from their kind ; they affect to be shocked even
at our simple uses of garlands ; they have no sympa-
thies with the cheerful amusements of life ; they utter
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 247
awful threats of the coming destruction of the world :
they appear, in one word, to have brought their un-
smiling and gloomy creed out of the cave of Tropho-
nius. Yet," continued Glaucus, after a slight pause,
" they have not wanted men of great power and genius,
nor converts, even among the Areopagites of Athens.
Well do I remember to have heard my father speak
of one strange guest at Athens, many years ago; me-
thinks his name was Paul. My father was amongst a
mighty crowd that gathered on one of our immemorial
hills to hear this sage of the East expound: through
the wide throng there rang not a single murmur! —
the jest and the roar, with which our native orators are
received, were hushed for him— and when on the
loftiest summit of that hill, raised above the breath-
less crowd below, stood this mysterious visitor, his
mien and his countenance awed every heart, even before
a sound left his lips. He was a man, I have heard my
father say, of no tall stature, but of noble and impres-
sive mien; his robes were dark and ampler the de-
clining sun, for it was evening, shone aslant upon his
form as it rose aloft, motionless and commanding ; his
countenance was much worn and marked, as of one
who had braved alike misfortune and the sternest vicis-
situdes of many climes ; but his eyes were bright with
an almost unearthly fire ; and when he raised his arm
to speak, it was with the majesty of a man into whom
the Spirit of a God hath rushed !
" * Men of Athens ! ' he is reported to have said, ' I
find amongst ye an altar with this inscription — To the
UNKNOWN God. Ye worship in ignorance the same
Deity I serve. To you unknown till now, to you be it
now revealed.'
" Then declared that solemn man how this great
248 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Maker of all things, who had appointed unto man his
several tribes and his various homes — the Lord of
earth and the universal heaven, dwelt not in temples
made with hands; that His presence, His spirit, were
in the air we breathed ; — our life and our being were
with Him. * Think you,' he' cried, ' that the Invisible
is like your statues of gold and marble? Think you
that He needeth sacrifice from you: He who made
heaven and earth?' Then spake he of fearful and
coming times, of the end of the world, of a second ris-
ing of the dead, whereof an assurance had been given
to man in the resurrection of the mighty Being whose
religion he came to preach.
" When he thus spoke, the long-pent murmur went
forth and the philosophers that were mingled with the
people, muttered their sage contempt; there might
you have seen the chilling frown of the Stoic and the
Cynic's sneer ; * — and the Epicurean, who believeth not
even in our own Elysium, muttered a pleasant jest, arid
swept laughing through the crowd : but the deep heart
of the people was touched and thrilled; and they
trembled, though they knew not why, for verily the
stranger had the voice and the majesty of a man to
whom ' The Unknown God ' had committed the preach-
ing of his faith."
lone listened with rapt attention, and the serious and
earnest manner of the narrator betrayed the impres-
sion that he himself had received from one who had
been amongst the audience that on the hill of the
heathen Mars had heard the first tidings of the word
of Christ!
1 " The haughty Cynic scowrd his grovelling hate,
And the soft garden's rose-encircled child
Smird unbelief, and shuddered as he smil'd."
Praed: Prize Poem, "Athens."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 249
CHAPTER . VI
THE PORTER. — ^THE GIRL. — AND THE GLADIATOR.
The door of Diomed's house stood open, and Medon,
the old slave, sat at the bottom of the steps by which
you ascended to the mansion. That luxurious man-
sion of the rich merchant of Pompeii is still to be seen
just without the gates of the city, at the commence-
ment of the Street of Tombs ; it was a gay neighbour-
hood, despite the dead. On the opposite side, but at
some yards nearer the gate, was a spacious hostelry,
at which those brought by business or by pleasure to
'Pompeii often stopped to refresh themselves. In the
space before the entrance of the inn now stood
waggons, and carts, and chariots, some just arrived,
some just quitting, in all the bustle of an animated and
popular resort of public entertainment. Before the
door, some farmers, seated on a bench by a small cir-
cular table, were talking over their morning cups, on
the affairs of their calling. On the side of the door
itself was painted gaily and freshly the eternal sign
of the checkers.^ By the roof of the inn stretched a
terrace, on which some females, wives of the farmers
above mentioned, were, some seated, some leaning over
the railing, and conversing with their friends below.
In a deep recess, at a little distance, was a covered seat,
in which some two or three poorer travellers were rest-
ing themselves and shaking the dust from their gar-
ments. On the other side stretched a wide space, orig-
inally the burial-ground of a more ancient race than
the present denizens of Pompeii, and now converted
into the Ustrinum, or place for the burning of the
* There is another inn within the walls similarly adorned.
2SO THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
dead. Above this rose the terraces of a gay villa, half
hid by trees. The tombs themselves with their grace-
ful and varied shapes, the flowers and the foliage that
surrounded them, made no melancholy feature in the
prospect. Hard by the gate of the city, in a small niche,
stood the still form of the well-disciplined Roman sen-
try, the sun shining brightly on his polished crest, and
the lance on which he leaned. The gate itself was di-
vided into three arches, the centre one for vehicles, the
others for the foot-passengers ; and on either side rose
the massive walls which girt the city, composed,
patched, repaired at a thousand different epochs, ac-
cording as war, time, or the earthquake had shattered
that vain protection. At frequent intervals rose square
towers, whose summits broke in picturesque rudeness
the regular line of the wall, and contrasted well with
the modern buildings gleaming whitely by.
The curving road, which in that direction leads from
Pompeii to Herculaneum, wound out of sight amidst
hanging vines, above which frowned the sullen Majesty
of Vesuvius.
" Hast thou heard the news, old Medon ? " said a
young woman, with a pitcher in her hand, as she paused
by Diomed's door to gossip a moment with the slave,
ere she repaired to the neighbouring inn to fill the ves-
sel, and coquet with the travellers.
" The news ! what news ? " said the slave, raising his
eyes moodily from the ground.
" Why, there passed through the gate this morning,
no doubt ere thou Wert well awake, such a visitor to
Pompeii ! ''
" Ay," said the slave, indifferently.
" Yes, a present from the noble Pomponianus."
" A present ! I thought thou saidst a visitor? "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 251
" It IS both visitor and present. Know, O dull and
stupid ! that it is a most beautiful young tiger, for our
approaching games in the amphitheatre. Hear you
that, Medon? Oh, what pleasure! I declare I shall
not sleep a wink till I see it; they say it has such a
roar ! "
" Poor fool ! " said Medon, sadly and cynically.
" Call me no fool, old churl ! It is a pretty thing, a
tiger, especially if we could but find somebody for him
to eat. We have now a lion and a tiger : only consider
that, Medon ! and for want of two good criminals per-
haps we shall be forced to see them eat each other. By
the by, your son is a gladiator, a handsome man .and
a strong ; can you not persuade him to fight the tiger ?
Do now, you would oblige me mightily; nay, you
would be a benefactor to the whole town."
" Vah ! vah ! " said the slave, with great asperity ;
" think of thine own danger ere thou thus pratest of
my poor boy's death."
" My own danger ! " said the girl, frightened and
looking hastily round — " avert the omen ! let thy
words fall on thine own head ! " And the girl, as she
spoke, touched a talisman suspended round her neck.
" ' Thine own danger ! ' what danger threatens me ? "
" Had the earthquake but a few nights since no
warning? " said Medon. " Has it not a voice? Did it
not say to us all, ' Prepare for death ; the end of all
things is at hand ' ? "
" Bah, stuff ! " said the young woman, settling the
folds of her tunic. " Now thou talkest as they say the
Nazarenes talk — methinks thou art one of them. Well,
I can prate with thee, grey croaker, no more; thou
growest worse and worse — Vale! O Hercules! send
us a man for the lion — and another for the tiger I
252 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Ho ! ho.! for the merry, merry show,
With a forest of faces in every row!
Lo, the swordsmen, bold as the son of Alcmena,
Sweep, side by side, o'er the hush'd arena;
Talk while you may — ^you will hold your breath
When they meet in the grasp of the glowing death.
Tramp, tramp, how gaily they go!
Ho ! ho ! for the merry, merry show ! "
Chanting in a silver and clear voice this feminine
ditty, and holding up her tunic from the dusty road,
the young woman stepped lightly across to the crowded
hostelry.
" My poor son ! " said the slave, half aloud, " is it for
things like this thou art to be butchered? Oh! faith
of Christ, I could worship thee in all sincerity, were it
but for the horror which thou inspirest for these bloody
lists."
The old man's head sank dejectedly on his breast.
He remained silent and absorbed, but every now and
then with the comer of his sleeve he wiped his eyes.
His heart was with his son ; he did not see the figure
that now approached from the gate with a quick step,
and a somewhat fierce and reckless gait and carriage.
He did not lift his eyes till the figure paused opposite
the place where he sat, and with a soft voice addressed
him by the name of —
" Father ! "
" My boy ! my Lydon ! is it indeed thou ? " said the
old man, joyfully. " Ah, thou wert present to my
thoughts."
" I am glad to hear it, my father," said the gladiator,
respectfully touching the knees and beard of the slave ;
" and soon may I be always present with thee, not in
thought only.'
»
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 253
" Yes, my son — but not in this world," replied the
slave, mournfully.
. " Talk not thus, O my sire ! look cheerfully, for I
feel so — I am sure that I shall win the day ; and then,
the gold I gain buys thy freedom. Oh! my father, it
was but a few days since that I was taunted, bv one,
too, whom I would gladly have undeceived, for he is
more generous than the rest of his equals. He is not
Roman — he is of Athens — by him I was taunted with
the lust of gain — when I demanded what sum was the
prize of victory. Alas ! he little knew the soul of Ly^
don ! "
" My boy! my boy! " said the old slave, as, slowly
ascending the steps, he conducted his son to his own
little chamber communicating with the entrance hall
(which in this villa was the peristyle, not the atrium:
— ^you may see it now ; it is the third door to the right
on entering. The first door conducts to the staircase ;
the second is but a false recess, in which there stood a
statue of bronze). "Generous, affectionate, pious as
are thy motives," said Medon, when they were thus se-
cured from observation, "thy deed itself is guilt: thou
&rt to risk thy blood for thy father's freedom— rthat
might be forgiven ; but the prize of victory is the blood
of another. Oh, that is a deadly sin; no object can
purify it. Forbear ; forbear ! rather would I be a slave
for ever than purchase liberty on such terms ! "
"Hush, my father!" replied Lydon, somewhat im-
patiently ; " thou hast picked up in this new creed of
thine, of which I pray thee not to speak to me, for the
gods that gave me strength denied me wisdom, and I
understand not one word of what thou often preachest
to me — ^thou hast picked up, I say, in this new creed,
some singular fantasies of right .and ^vrong. . Pardon
254 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
me if I offend thee ; but reflect ! Against whom shall
I contend? Oh! couldst thou know those wretches
with whom, for thy sake, I assort, thou wouldst think
I purified earth by removing one of them. Beasts,
whose very lips drop blood; things, all savage, un-
principled in their very courage: ferocious, heartless,
senseless ; no tie of life can bind them : they know not
fear, it is true, but neither know they gratitude, nor
charity, nor love ; they are made but for their own ca-
reer, to slaughter without pity ; to die without dread !
Can thy gods, 'whosoever they be, look with wrath on
a conflict with such as these, and in such a cause ? Oh,
my father, wherever the powers above gaze down on
earth, they behold no duty so sacred, so sanctifying, as
the sacrifice offered to an aged parent by the piety of a
grateful son ! "
The poor old slave, himself deprived of the lights of
knowledge, and only late a convert to the Christian
faith, knew not with what arguments to enlighten an
ignorance at once so dark and yet so beautiful in its
error. His first impulse was to throw himself on his
son's breast — his next to start away — to wring his
hands ; and in the attempt to reprove, his broken voice
lost itself in weeping.
" And if," resumed Lydon — " if thy Deity (me-
thinks thou wilt own but one?) be indeed that benevo-
lent and pitying Power which thou assertest Him to
be. He will know also that thy very faith in. Him first
confirmed me in that determination thou blamest."
" How ! what mean you ? " said the slave.
" Why, thou knowest that I, sold in my childhood as
a slave, was set free at Rome by the will of my master,
whom I had been fortunate enough to please. I has-
tened to Pompeii to see thee — I found thee already
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 255
aged and infirm, under the yoke of a capricious and
pampered lord — ^thou hadst lately adopted this new
faith, and its adoption made thy slavery doubly painful
to thee ; it took away all the softening charm of cus-
tom, which reconciles us so often to the worst. Didst
thou not complain to me that thou wert compelled to
offices that were not odious to thee as a slave, but guilty
as a Nazarene? Didst thou not tell me that thy soul
shook with remorse when thou wert compelled to place
even a crumb of cake before the Lares that watch over
yon impluvium ? that thy soul was torn by a perpetual
struggle? Didst thou not tell me that even by pour-
ing wine before the threshold, and calling on the name
of some Grecian deity, thou didst fear thou wert in-
curring penalties worse than those of Tantalus, an
eternity of tortures more terrible than those of the
Tartarian fields ? Didst thou not tell me this ? I won-
dered, I could not comprehend ; nor, by Hercules ! can
I now : but I was thy son, and my sole task was to com-
passionate and relieve. Could I hear thy groans, could
I witness thy mysterious horrors, thy constant anguish,
and remain inactive ? No ! by the immortal gods ! the
thought struck me like light from Olympus! I had
no money, but I had strength and youth — ^these were
thy gifts — I could sell these in my turn for thee! I
learned the amount of thy ransom — I learned that the
usual prize of a victorious gladiator would doubly pay
it. I became a gladiator — I linked myself with those
accursed men, scorning, loathing, while I joined — I ac-
quired their skill — ^blessed be the lesson ! — ^it shall teach
me to free my father 1 "
" Oh, that thou couldst hear Olinthus I " sighed the
old man, more and more affected by the virtue of his
son, but not less strongly convinced of the criminality
of his purpose.
256 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" I will hear the whole world talk if thou wilt," an-
swered the gladiator gaily ; " but not till thou art a
slave no more. Beneath thy own roof, my father, thou
shalt puzzle this dull brain all day long, ay, and all
night too, if it give thee pleasure. Oh, such a spot as I
have chalked out for thee ! — it is one of the nine hun-
dred and ninety-nine shops of old Julia Felix, in the
sunny part of the city, where thou mayst bask before
the door in the day — and I will sell the oil and the wine
for thee, my father — and then, please Venus (or if it
does not please her, since thou lovest not her name, it
is all one to Lydon ;) — then, I say, perhaps thou mayst
have a daughter, too, to tend thy grey hairs, and hear
shrill voices at thy knee, that shall call thee ' Lydon's
father ! ' Ah ! we shall be so happy — ^the prize can pur-
chase all. Cheer thee ! cheer up, my sire ! — And now I
must away — day wears — ^the lanista waits me. Come !
thy blessing ! "
As Lydon thus spoke, he had already quitted the
dark chamber of his father; and speaking eagerly,
though in a whispered tone, they now stood at the
same place in which we introduced the porter at his
post.
" O bless thee ! bless thee, my brave boy ! " said
Medon, fervently; "and may the g^eat Power that
reads all hearts see the nobleness of thine, and for-
give its error ! "
The tall shape of the gladiator passed swiftly down'
the path; the eyes of the slave followed its light but
stately steps, till the last glimpse was gone ; and then,
sinking once more on his seat, his eyes again fastened
themselves on the ground. His form, mute and un-
moying, as a thing of stone. His heart! — ^who in
our happier age, can even imagine its struggles —
its commotion?
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 257
" May I enter ? " said a sweet voice. " Is thy mis-
tress Julia within ? "
The slave mechanically motioned to the visitor to
enter, but she who addressed him could not see the
gesture — she repeated her question timidly, but in a
louder voice.
" Have I not told thee ? " said the slave peevishly :
" enter."
" Thanks," said the speaker, plaintively ; and the
slave, roused by the tone, looked up, and recognised
the blind flower-girl. Sorrow can sympathise with
affliction — ^he raised himself, and guided her steps to
the head of the adjacent staircase (by which- you
descended to Julia's apartment), where summoning
a female slave, he consigned to her the charge of the^
blind girl.
CHAPTER VII
THE DRESSING-ROOM OF A POMPEIAN BEAUTY. — IMPORT-
ANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN JULIA AND NYDIA.
The elegant Julia sat in her chamber, with her
slaves around her; — like the cubiculum which ad-
joined it, the room was small, but much larger than
the usual apartments appropriated to sleep, which
were so diminutive, that few who have not seen the
bed-chambers, even in the gayest mansions, can form
any notion of the petty pigeon-holes in which the
citizens of Pompeii evidently thought it desirable to
pass the night. But, in fact, " bed " with the ancients
was not that grave, serious, important part of domestic
mysteries which it is with us. The couch itself was
more like a very narrow and small sofa, light enough
17
2SS THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
to be transported easily, and by the occupant him-
self/ from place to place ; and it was, no doubt, con-
stantly shifted from chamber to chamber, according
to the caprices of the inmate, or the changes of the
season ; for that side of the house which was crowded
in one month might, perhaps, be carefully avoided in
the next. There was also among the Italians of that
period a singular and fastidious apprehension of too
much daylight; their darkened chambers, which first
appear to us the result of a negligent architecture,
were the effect of the most elaborate study. In their
porticoes and gardens they courted the sun whenever
it so pleased their luxurious tastes. In the interior
of their houses they sought rather the coolness and
the shade.
Julia's apartment at that season was in the lower
part of the house, immediately beneath the state
rooms> above, and looking upon the garden, with
which it was on a level. The wide door, which was
glazed, alone admitted the morning rays ; yet her eye,
accustomed to a certain darkness, was sufficiently
acute to perceive exactly what colours were the most
becoming — what shade of the delicate rouge gave the
brightest beam to her dark glance, and the most
youthful freshness to her cheek.
On the table, before which she sat, was a small
and circular mirror of the most polished steel : round
which, in precise order, were ranged the cosmetics
and the unguents — ^the perfumes and the paints — the
jewels and the combs — the ribands and the gold pins,
which were destined to add to the natural attractions
of beauty the assistance of art and the capricious
1 " Take up thy bed and walk " was (as Sir W. Gell some-
where observes) no metaphorical expression.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 259
allurements of fashion. Through the dimness of the
room glowed brightly the vivid and various colour-
ings of the wall, in all the dazzling frescoes of Pom-
peian taste. Before the dressing-table, and under the
feet of Julia, was spread a carpet, woven from the
looms of the East. Near ^t hand, on another table,
was a silver basin and ewer; an extinguished lamp,
of most exquisite workmanship, in which the artist
had represented a Cupid reposing under the spread-
ing branches of a myrtle-tree; and a small roll of
papyrus, containing the softest elegies of Tibullus.
Before the door, which communicated with the cu-
biculum, hung a curtain richly broidered with gold
flowers. StJch was the dressing-room of a beauty
eighteen centuries ago.
The fair Julia leaned indolently back on her seat,
while the ornatrix (i.e., hairdresser) slowly piled, one
above the other, a mass of small curls, dexterously
weaving the false with the true, and carrying the
whole fabric to a height that seemed to place the head
rather at the centre than the summit of the human
form.
Her tunic, of a deep amber, which well set off her
dark hair and somewhat embrowned complexion,
swept in ample folds to her feet, which were cased in
slippers, fastened round the slender ankle by white
thongs ; while a profusion of pearls were embroidered
in the slipper itself, which was of purple, and turned
slightly upward, as do the Turkish slippers at this
day. An old slave, skilled by long experience in all
the arcana of the toilet, stood beside the hairdresser,
with the broad and studded girdle of her mistress
over her arm, and giving, from time to time (mingled
with judicious flattery to the lady herself), instruc-
tions to the mason of the ascending pile.
26o THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Put that pin rather more to the right — lower —
stupid one! Do you not observe how even those
beautiful eyebrows are? — One would think you were
dressing Corinna, whose face is all of one side. Now
put in the flowers — ^what, fool! — ^not that dull pink
— you are not suiting colours to the dim cheek of
Chloris: it must be the brightest flowers that can
alone suit the cheek of the young Julia."
" Gently ! " said the lady, stamping her small foot
violently : " you pull my hair as if you were plucking
up a weed ! "
" Dull thing ! " continued the directress of the
ceremony. " Do you not know how delicate is your
mistress ? — ^you are not dressing the coarse horsehair
of the widow Fulvia. Now, then, the riband — ^that's
right. Fair Julia, look in the mirror; saw you ever
anything so lovely as yourself ? "
When, after innumerable comments, difficulties,
and delays, the intricate tower was at length com-
pleted, the next preparation was that of giving to the
eyes the soft languish, produced by a dark powder
applied to the lids and brows; a small patch cut in
the form of a crescent, skilfully placed by the rosy
lips, attracted attention to their dimples, and to the
teeth, to which already every art had been applied
in order to heighten the dazzle of their natural white-
ness.
\ To another slave, hitherto idle, was now consigned
the charge of arranging the jewels — ^the earrings of
pearl (two in each ear) — ^the massive bracelets of gold
— the chain formed of rings of the same metal, to
which a talisman cut in crystals was attached — ^the
graceful buckle on the left shoulder, in which was set
an exquisite cameo of Psyche — the girdle of purple
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 261
riband, richly wrought with threads of gold, and
clasped by interfacing serpents — and lastly, the vari-
ous rings, fitted to every joint of the white and slender
fingers. The toilet was now arranged according to
the last mode of Rome. The fair Julia regarded her-
self with a last gaze of complacent vanity, and reclin-
ing again upon her seat, she bade the youngest of
her slaves, in a listless tone, read to her the enam-
oured couplets of Tibullus. This lecture was still pro-
ceeding, when a female slave admitted Nydia into the
presence of the lady of the place.
" Salve, Julia ! " said the flower-girl, arresting her
steps within a few paces from the spot where Julia
sat, and crossing her arms upon her breast. " I have
obeyed your commands.'*
" You have done well, flower-girl," answered the
lady. " Approach — you may take a seat."
One of the slaves placed a stool by Julia, and Nydia
seated herself.
Julia looked hard at the Thessalian for some mo-
ments in rather an embarrassed silence. She then
motioned her attendants to withdraw, and to close
the door. When they were alone, she said, looking
mechanically from Nydia, and forgetful that she was
with one who could not observe her countenance, —
" You serve the Neapolitan, lone ? "
" I am with her at present," answered Nydia.
" Is she as handsome as they say ? "
" I know not," replied Nydia. " How can /
judge ? "
" Ah ! I should have remembered. But thou hast
ears, if not eyes. Do thy fellow-slaves tell thee she
is handsome ? Slaves talking with one another forget
to flatter even their mistress."
262 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" They tell me that she is beautiful/'
" Hem !— say they that she is tall ? "
" Yes."
"Why, so am L— Dark-haired?"-
" I have heard so."
" So am I. And doth Glaucus visit her much? "
" Daily," returned Nydia, with a half-suppressed
sigh.
" Daily, indeed ! Does he find her handsome ? "
" I should think so, since they are so soon to be
wedded."
" Wedded ! " cried Julia, turning pale even through
the false roses on her cheek, and starting from her
couch. Nydia did not, of course, perceive the emo-
tion she had caused. Julia remained a long time
silent ; but her heaving breast and flashing eyes would
have betrayed, to one who could have seen, the wound
her vanity had sustained.
" They tell me thou art a Thessalian," said she, at
last breaking silence.
" And truly ! "
" Thessaly is the land of magic and of witches, of
talismans and of love-philtres," said Julia.
" It has ever been celebrated for its sorcerers," re-
turned Nydia, timidly.
" Knowest thou, then, blind Thessalian, of any love-
charms?"
"I!" said the flower-girl, colouring; ''I! how
should I ? No, assuredly not ! "
" The worse for thee ; I could have given thee gold
enough to have purchased thy freedom hadst thou been
more wise."
«
But what," asked Nydia, " can induce the beautiful
and wealthy Julia to ask that question of her servant?
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 263
Has she not money, and youth, and loveliness? Are
they not love-charms enough to dispense with magic ? "
" To all but one person in the world," answered
Julia, haughtily; "but methinks thy blindness is in-
fectious ; and But no matter."
" And that one person ? " said Nydia, eagerly.
" Is not Glaucus," replied Julia, with the customary
deceit of her sex. *' Glaucus — no ! "
Nydia drew her breath more freely, and after a short
pause Julia recommenced.
" But talking of Glaucus, and his attachment to this
Neapolitan, reminded me of the influence of love-
spells, which, for aught I know or care, she may have
exercised upon him. Blind girl, I love, and — shall
Julia live to say it? — am loved not in return! This
humbles — nay, not humbles — but it stings my pride. I
would see this ingrate at my feet — not in order that
I might raise, but that I might spurn him. When they
told me thou wert Thessalian, I imagined thy young
mind might have learned the dark secrets of thy
clime."
" Alas ! no," murmured Nydia : *' would it had ! "
" Thanks, at least, for that kindly wish," said Julia,
unconscious of what was passing in the breast of the
flower-girl.
" But tell me, — thou hearest the gossip of slaves, al-
ways prone to these dim beliefs ; always ready to apply
to sorcery for their own low loves, — hast thou ever
heard of any Eastern magician in this city, who pos-
sesses the art of which thou art ignorant? No vain
chiromancer, no juggler of the market-place, but some
more potent and mighty magician of India or of
Egypt?"
" Of Egypt ? — yes ! " said Nydia, shuddering.
" What Pompeian has not heard of Arbaces ? "
2^ THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Arbaces ! true," replied Julia, grasping at the recol-
lection. " They say he is a man above all the petty and
false impostures of dull pretenders,— that he is versed
in the learning of the stars, and the secrets of the an-
cient Nox ; why not in the mysteries of love ? "
" If there be one magician living whose art is above
that of others, it is that dread man," answered Nydia ;
and she felt her talisman while she spoke.
" He is too wealthy to divine for money ? " contin-
ued Julia, sneeringly. " Can I not visit him?"
" It is an evil mansion for the young and the beauti-
ful," replied Nydia. " I have heard, too, that he lan-
guishes in "
" An evil mansion ! " said Julia, catching only the
first sentence. " Why so ? "
" The orgies of his midnight leisure are impure and
polluted — at least, so says rumour."
" By Ceres, by Pan, and by Cybele ! thou dost but
provoke my curiosity, instead of exciting my fears,"
returned the wayward and pampered Pompeiian. " I
will seek and question him of his lore. If to these
orgies love be admitted — why, the more likely that he
knows its secrets ! "
Nydia did not answer.
" I will seek him this very day," resumed Julia ;
" nay, why not this very hour ? "
" At daylight, and in his present state, thou hast as-
suredly the less to fear," answered Nydia, yielding to
her own sudden and secret wish to learn if the dark
Egyptian were indeed possessed of those spells to rivet
and attract love, of which the Thessalian had so often
heard.
" And who would dare insult the rich daughter of
Diomed ? " said Julia, haughtily. " I will go."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 265
" May I visit thee afterwards to learn the result ? "
asked Nydia, anxiously.
" Kiss me for thy interest in Julians honour," an-
swered the lady. *' Yes, assuredly. This eve we sup
abroad— come hither at the same hour to-morrow, and
thou shalt know all: I may have to employ thee too;
but enough for the present. Stay, take this bracelet for
the new thought thou hast inspired me with ; remem-
ber, if thou servest Julia, she is grateful and she is gen-
erous."
" I cannot take thy present," said Nydia, putting
aside the bracelet; " bul; young as I am, I can sympa-
thise unbought with those who love — and love in vain."
" Sayest thou so ? " returned Julia. " Thou speakest
like a free woman — ^and thou shalt yet be free — fare-
well ! "
CHAPTER VIII
JULIA SEEKS ARBACES. — THE RESULT OF THAT
INTERVIEW.
Arbaces was seated in a chamber which opened on a
kind of balcony or portico that fronted his garden. His
cheek was pale and worn with the sufferings he had
endured, but his iron frame had already recovered from
the severest effects of that accident which had frus-
trated his fell designs in the moment of victory. The
air that came fragrantly to his brow revived his lan-
guid senses, and the blood circulated more freely than
it had done for days through his shrunken veins.
" So, then," thought he, " the storm of fate has
broken and blown over, — the evil which my lore pre-
dicted, threatening life itself, has chanced — ^and yet I
266 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
live ! It came as the stars foretold ; and now the long,
bright, and prosperous career which was to succeed
that evil, if I survive it, smiles beyond : I have passed
— I have subdued the latest danger of my destiny.
Now I have but to lay out the gardens of my future
fate — unterrified and secure. First, then, of all my
pleasures, even before that of love, shall come re-
venge ! This boy Greek — who has crossed my passion
— thwarted my designs — ^baffled me even when the
blade was about to drink his accursed blood — shall not
a second time escape me! But for the method of my
vengeance ? Of that let me ponder well ! Oh I Ate, if
thou art indeed a goddess, fill me with thy direst in-
spiration ! " The Egyptian sank into an intent reverie,
which did not seem to present to him any clear or satis-
factory suggestions. He changed his position rest-
lessly, as he revolved scheme after scheme, which no
sooner occurred than it was dismissed; several times
he struck his breast and groaned aloud, with the de-
sire of vengeance, and a sense of his impotence to ac-
complish it. While thus absorbed, a boy-slave timidly
entered the chamber.
A female, evidently of rank from her dress, and that
of the single slave who attended her, waited below, and
sought an audience with Arbaces.
" A female ! " his heart beat quick. " Is she young? "
" Her face is concealed by her veil ; but her form is
slight, yet round, as that of youth."
** Admit her," said the Egyptian ; for a moment his
vain heart dreamed the stranger might be lone.
The first glance of the visitor now entering the apart-
ment sufficed to undeceive so erring a fancy. True,
she was abput the same height as lone, and perhaps
the same age — true, she was finely and richly formed
■"H
Arbaces ihe Egyptian.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 267
— but where was that undulating and ineffable grace
which accompanied every motion of the peerless Nea-
politan— the chaste and decorous garb, so simple even
in the care of its arrangement — the dignified yet bash-
ful step — the majesty of womanhood and its modesty?
" Pardon me that I rise with pain/' said Arbaces,
gazing on the stranger: " I am still suffering from re-
cent illness."
" Do not disturb thyself, O great Egyptian ! " re-
turned Julia, seeking to disguise the fear she already
experienced beneath the ready resort of flattery ; " and
forgive an unfortunate female, who seeks consoljttion
from thv wisdom."
" Draw near, fair stranger," said Arbaces ; " and
speak without apprehension or reserve."
Julia placed herself on a seat beside the Egyptian,
and wonderingly gazed around an apartment whose
elaborate and costly luxuries shamed even the ornate
enrichment of her father's mansion ; fearfully, too, she
regarded the hieroglyphical inscriptions on the walls —
the faces of the mysterious images, which at every cor-
ner gazed upon her — the tripod at a little distance —
and, above all, the grave and remarkable countenance
of Arbaces himself. A long white robe like a veil half
covered his raven locks, and flowed to his feet : his face
was made even more impressive by its present paleness ;
and his dark and penetrating eyes seemed to pierce the
shelter of her veil, and explore the secrets of her vain
and unfeminine soul.
" And what," said his low, deep voice, " brings thee,
O maiden ! to the house of the Eastern stranger ? "
" His fame," replied Julia.
In what? " said he, with a strange and slight smile.
Canst thou ask, O wise Arbaces ? Is not thy knowl-
edge the very gossip theme of Pompeii ? "
268 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
\
t
" Some little lore have I, indeed, treasured up/' re-
plied Arbaces; "but in what can such serious and
sterile secrets benefit the ear of beauty ? "
" Alas ! " said Julia, a little cheered by the accus-
tomed accents of adulation ; " does not sorrow fly to
wisdom for relief, and they who love unrequitedly, are
not they the chosen victims of grief ? "
" Ha ! " said Arbaces, " can unrequited love be the
lot of so fair a form, whose modelled proportions are
visible even beneath the folds of thy graceful robe?
Deign, O maiden! to lift thy veil, that I may see at
least if the face correspond in loveliness with the form."
Not unwilling, perhaps, to exhibit her charms, and
thinking they were likely to interest the magician in
her fate, Julia, after some slight hesitation, raised her
veil, and revealed a beauty, which, but for art, had been
indeed attractive to the fixed gaze of the Egyptian.
" Thou comest to me for advice in unhappy love,"
said he ; " well, turn that face on the ungrateful one :
what other love-charm can I give thee ? "
" Oh, cease these courtesies ! " said Julia ; " it is 2l
love-charm, indeed, that I would ask from thy skill."
" Fair stranger ! " replied Arbaces, somewhat scorn-
fully, " love-spells are not among the secrets I have
wasted the midnight oil to attain."
" Is it indeed so ? Then pardon me, great Arbaces,
and farewell ! "
" Stay," said Arbaces, who despite his passion for
lone, was not unmoved by the beauty of his visitor;
and had he been in the flush of a more assured health,
might have attempted to console the fair Julia by other
means than those of supernatural wisdom, — " stay ; al-
though that I confess I have left the witchery of phil-
tres and potions to those whose trade is in such knowl-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 269
edge, yet am I myself not so dull to beauty but that in
earlier youth I may have employed them in my own
behalf. I may give thee advice, at least, if thou wilt be
candid with me. Tell me then, first, art thou unmar-
ried, as thy dress betokens ? "
" Yes," said Julia.
" And, being unblest with fortune, wouldst thou
allure some wealthy suitor? "
" I am richer than he who disdains me."
" Strange and more strange ! And thou lovest him
who loves not thee ? "
• " I know not if I love him," answered Julia, haugh-
tily ; " but I know that I would see myself triumph over
a rival — I would see him who rejected me my suitor —
I would see her whom he has preferred in her turn
despised."
"A natural ambition and a womanly," said the
Egyptian, in a tone too grave for irony. " Yet more,
fair maiden ; wilt thou confide to me the name of thy
lover ? Can he be Pompeian, and despise wealth, even
if blind to beautv ? "
" He is of Athens," answered Julia, looking down.
" Ha ! " cried the Egyptian, impetuously, as the
blood rushed to his cheek ; " there is but one Athenian,
young and noble, in Pompeii. Can it be Glaucus of
whom thou speakest ! "
" Ah I betray me not — so indeed they call him."
The Egyptian sank back, gazing vacantly on the
averted face of the merchant's daughter, and muttering
inly to himself: — this conference, with which he had
hitherto only trifled, amusing himself with the credu-
lity and vanity of his visitor — might it not minister to
his revenge?
" I see thou canst assist me not," said Julia, offended
270 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
by his continued silence ; " guard at least my secret.
Once more farewell ! "
" Maiden," said the Egyptian, in an earnest and se-
rious tone, " thy suit hath touched me — I will minister
to thy will. Listen to me ; I have not myself dabbled
in these lesser mysteries, but I know one who hath. At
the base of Vesuvius, less than a league from the city,
there dwells a powerful witch ; beneath the rank dews
of the new moon, she has gathered the herbs which
possess the virtue to chain Love in eternal fetters. Her
art can bring thy lover to thy feet. Seek her, and men-
tion to her the name of Arbaces ; she fears that name,
and will give thee her most potent philtres."
" Alas ! " answered Julia, " I know not the road to
the home of her whom thou speakest of : the way, short
though it be, is long to traverse for a girl who leaves,
unknown, the house of her father. The country is
entangled with wild vines, and dangerous with pre-
cipitous caverns. I dare not trust to mere strangers to
guide me ; the reputation of women of my rank is easily
tarnished — ^and though I care not who knows that I
love Glaucus, I would not have it imagined that I ob-
tained his love by a spell."
" Were I but three days advanced in health," said
the Egyptian, rising and walking (as if to try his
strength) across the chamber, but with irregular and
feeble steps, " I myself would accompany thee. — Well,
thou must wait."
" But Glaucus is soon to wed that hated Neapolitan."
" Wed ! "
" Yes ; in the early part of next month."
" So soon ! Art thou well advised of this ? ".
" From the lips of her own slave."
" It shall not be ! " said the Egyptian, impetuously.
(t
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 271
" Fear nothing, Glaucus shall be thine. Yet how, when
thou obtainest it, canst thou administer to him this
potion ? "
" My father has invited him, and, I believe the Nea-
politan also, to a banquet, on the day following to-,
morrow ; I shall then have the opportunity to admin-
ister it."
" So be it ! " said the Egyptian, with eyes flashing
such fierce joy, that Julia's gaze sank trembling be-
neath them. " To-morrow eve, then, order thy litter :
— ^thou hast one at thy command ? "
Surely — yes," returned the purse-proud Julia.
Order thy litter — at two miles' distance from the
city is a house of entertainment, frequented by the
wealthier Pompeians, from the excellence of its baths,
and the beauty of its gardens. There canst thou pre-
tend only to shape thy course — there, ill or dying, I
will meet thee by the statue of Silenus, in the copse
that skirts the garden, and I myself will guide thee to
the witch. Let us wait till, with the evening star, the
goats of the herdsmen are gone to rest ; when the dark
twilight conceals us, and none shall cross our steps. Go
home, and fear not. By Hades, swears Arbaces, the
sorcerer of Egypt, that lone shall never wed with
Glaucus ! "
" And that Glaucus shall be mine ? " added Julia, fill-
ing up the incompleted sentence.
" Thou hast said it I " replied Arbaces ; and Julia,
half frightened at this unhallowed appointment, but
urged on by jealousy and the pique of rivalship, even
more than love, resolved to fulfil it.
Left alone, Arbaces burst forth, — *
" Bright stars that never lie, ye already begin the
execution of your promises — success in love, and vie-
272 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
tory over foes, for the rest of my smooth existence. In
the very hour when my mind could devise no clew to
the goal of vengeance, have ye sent this fair fool for
my guide ! " He paused in deep thought. " Yes," said
he again, but in a calmer voice ; " I could not myself
have given to her the poison, that shall be indeed a
philtre ! — his death might be thus tracked to my door.
But the witch — ay, there is the fit, the natural agent of
my designs ! "
He summoned one of his slaves, bade him hasten to
track the steps of Julia, and acquaint himself with her
name and condition. This done, he stepped forth into
the portico. The skies were serene and clear ; but he,
deeply read in the signs of their various change, beheld
in one mass of cloud, far on the horizon, which the
wind began slowly to agitate, that a storm was brood-
ing above.
" It is like my vengeance," said he as he gazed ; " the
sky is clear, but the cloud moves on."
CHAPTER IX
A STORM IN THE SOUTH. — ^THE WITCHES CAVERN.
It was when the heats of noon died gradually away
from the earth, that Glaucus and lone went forth to
enjoy the cooled and grateful air. At that time, va-
rious carriages were in use among the Romans; the
one most used by the richer citizens, when they re-
quired no companion in their excursions,, was the fct^a,
already described in the early portion of this work;
that appropriated to the matrons was termed carpen-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 273
tum,^ which had commonly two wheels; the ancients
used also a sort of litter, a vast sedan-chair, more com-
modiously arranged than the modern, inasmuch as the
occupant thereof could lie down at ease, instead of
being perpendicularly and stiffly jostled up and down.^
There was another carriage, used both for travelling
and for excursions in the country ; it was commodious,
containing three or four persons with ease, having a
covering which could be raised at pleasure; and, in
short, answering very much the purpose of (though
very different in shape from) the modern britska. It
was a vehicle of this description that the lovers, ac-
companied by one female slave of lone, now used in
their excursion. About ten miles from the city, there
was at that day an old ruin, the remains of a temple,
evidently Grecian ; and as for Glaucus and lone every-
thing Grecian possessed an interest, they had agreed to
visit these ruins : it was thither they were now bound.
Their road lay among vines and olive-groves; till,
winding more and more towards the higher ground
of Vesuvius, the path grew rugged ; the mules moved
slowly, and with labour; and at every opening in the
wood they beheld those grey and horrent caverns in-
denting the parched rock, which Strabo has described ;
but which the various revolutions of time and the vol-
cano have removed from the present aspect of the
mountain. The sun, sloping towards his descent, cast
long and deep shadows over the mountain ; here and
there they still heard the rustic reed of the shepherd
amongst copses of the beechwood and wild oak. Some-
times they marked the form of the silk-haired and
1 For public festivals and games they used one more lux-
urious and costly, called pilentum, with four wheels.
2 But they had also the sella, or sedan, in which they sat as
we do.
18
274 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
graceful capella, with its wreathing horn and bright
grey eye — which, still beneath Ausonian skies, recalls
the eclogues of Maro, browsing half-way up the hills ;
and the grapes, already purple with the smiles of the
deepening summer, glowed out from the arched fes-
toons, which hung pendent from tree to tree. Above
them, light clouds floated in the serene heavens, sweep-
ing so slowly athwart the firmament that they scarcely
seemed to stir ; while, on their right they caught, ever
and anon, glimpses of the waveless sea, with some light
bark skimming its surface; and the sunlight breaking
over the deep in those countless and softest hues so
peculiar to that delicious sea.
" How beautiful ! " said Glaucus, in a half-whispered
tone, " is that expression by which we call Earth our
Mother! With what a kindly equal love she pours
her blessings upon her children! and even to those
sterile spots to which Nature has denied beauty, she
yet contrives to dispense her smiles: witness the ar-
butus and the vine, which she wreathes over the arid
and burning soil of yon extinct volcano. Ah ! in such
an hour and scene as this, well might we imagine that
the laughing face of the Faun should peep forth from
those green festoons ; or, that we might trace the steps
of the Mountain Nymph through the thickest mazes
of the glade. But the Nymphs ceased, beautiful lone,
when thou wert created ! "
There is no tongue that flatters like a lover's; and
yet, in the exaggeration of his feelings, flattery seems
to him commonplace. Strange and prodigal exuber-
ance, which soon exhausts itself by overflowing !
They arrived at the ruins ; they examined them with
that fondness with which we trace the hallowed and
household vestiges of our own ancestry — ^they lingered
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 275
there till Hesperus appeared in the rosy heavens ; and
then returning homeward in the twilight, they were
more silent than they had been ; for in the shadow and
beneath the stars they felt more oppressively their mu-
tual love.
It was at this time that the storm which the Egyp-
tian had predicted began to creep invisibly over them.
At first, a low and distant thunder gave warning of the
approaching conflict of the elements ; and then rapidly
rushed above the dark ranks of the serried clouds. The
suddenness of storms in that climate is something al-
most preternatural, and might well suggest to early
superstition the notion of a divine agency — a few large
drops broke heavily among the boughs that half over-
hung their path, and then, swift and intolerably bright
the forked lightning darted across their very eyes, and
was swallowed up by the increasing darkness.
" Swifter, good Carrucarius ! *' cried Glaucus to the
driver ; " the tempest comes on apace."
The slave urged on the mules — they went swift over
the uneven and stony road — the clouds thickened, near
and more near broke the thunder, and fast rushed the
dashing rain.
" Dost thou fear? " whispered Glaucus, as he sought
excuse in the storm to come nearer to lone.
" Not with thee," said she, softly.
At that instant, the carriage, fragile and ill-contrived
(as, despite their graceful shapes, were, for practical
uses most of such inventions at that time), struck vio-
lently into a deep rut, over which lay a log of fallen
wood; the driver, with a curse, stimulated his mules
yet faster for the obstacle, the wheel was torn from the
socket, and the carriage suddenly overset.
Glaucus, quickly extricating himself from the ve-
276 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
hide, hastened to assist lone, who was fortunately un-
hurt; with some difficulty they raised the carruca (or
carriage), and found that it ceased any longer even to
afford them shelter ; the springs that fastened the cov-
ering were snapped asunder, and the rain poured fast
and fiercely into the interior.
In this dilemma, what was to be done ? They were
yet some distance from the city — no house, no aid,
seemed near.
" There is," said the slave, *' a smith about a mile
off ; I could seek him, and he might fasten at least the
wheel to the carruca — ^but Jupiter ! how the rain beats !
my mistress will be wet before I come back."
" Run thither at least," said Qlaucus ; " we must find
the best shelter we can till you return."
The lane was overshadowed with trees, beneath the
amplest of which Glaucus drew lone. He endeav-
oured, by stripping his own cloak, to shield her yet
more from the rapid rain ; but it descended with a fury
that broke through all puny obstacles: and suddenly,
while Glaucus was yet whispering courage to his beau-
tiful charge, the lightning struck one of the trees im-
mediately before them, and split with a mighty crash
its huge trunk in twain. This awful incident apprised
them of the danger they braved in their present shelter,
and Glaucus looked anxiously round for some less per-
ilous place of refuge. " We are now," said he, " half-
way up the ascent of Vesuvius ; there ought to be some
cavern, or hollow in the vine-clad rocks, could we but
find it, in which the deserting Nymphs have left a shel-
ter." While thus saying, he moved from the trees, and,
looking wistfully towards the mountain, discovered
through the advancing gloom a red and tremulous light
at no considerable distance. " That must come," said
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 277
he, " from the hearth of some shepherd or vine-dresser
— it will guide us to some hospitable retreat. Wilt thou
stay here, while I — ^yet no — that would be to leave thee
to danger."
" I will go with you cheerfully," said lone. " Open
as the space seems, it is better than the treacherous
shelter of these boughs."
Half leading, half carrying lone, Glaucus, accom-
panied by the trembling female slave, advanced tow-
ards the light, which yet burned red and steadfastly.
At length the space was iio longer open ; wild vines en-
tangled their steps, and hid from them, save by imper-
fect intervals, the guiding bearh. But faster and fiercer
came the rain, and the lightning assumed its most
deadly and blasting form; they were still, therefore,
impelled onward, hoping at last, if the light eluded
them, to arrive at some cottage or some friendly cavern.
The vines grew more and more intricate — the light was
entirely snatched from them ; but a narrow path, which
they trod with labour and pain, guided only by the con-
stant and long-lingering flashes of the storm, contin-
ued to lead them towards its direction. The rain ceased
suddenly ; precipitous and rough crags of scorched lava
frowned before them, rendered more fearful by the
lightning that illumined the dark and dangerous soil.
Sometimes the blaze lingered over the iron-grey heaps
of scoria, covered in part with ancient mosses or
stunted trees, as if seeking in vain for some gentler
product of earth more worthy of its ire ; and sometimes
leaving the whole of that part of the scene in darkness,
the lightning, broad and sheeted, hung redly over the
ocean, tossing far below, until its waves seemed glow-
ing into fire; and so intense was the blaze, that it
brought vividly into view even the sharp outline of the
2/8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
more distant windings of the bay, from the eternal
Misenum, with its lofty brow, to the beautiful Soren-
tum and the giant hills behind.
Our lovers stopped in perplexity and doubt, when
suddenly as the darkness that gloomed between the
fierce flashes of lightning once more wrapped them
round, they saw near, but high, before them, the mys-
terious light. Another blaze, in which heaven and
earth were reddened, made visible to them the whole
expanse : no house was near, but just where they had
beheld the light, they thought they saw in the recess of
a cavern the outline of a human form. The darkness
once more returned ; the light, no longer paled beneath
the fires of heaven, burned forth again: they resolved
to ascend towards it ; they had to wind their way among
vast fragments of stone, here and there overhung with
wild bushes ; but they gained nearer and nearer to the
light, and at length they stood opposite the mouth of
a kind of cavern, apparently formed by huge splinters
of rock that had fallen transversely athwart each other :
and, looking into the gloom, each drew back involun-
tarily with a superstitious fear and chill.
A fire burned in a far recess of the cave ; and over it
was a small cauldron ; on a tall and thin column of iron
stood a rude lamp ; over that part of the wall, at the
base of which burned the fire, hung in many rows, as
if to dry, a profusion of herbs and weeds. A fox,
crouched before the fire, gazed upon the strangers with
its bright and red eye — its hair bristling — and a low
growl stealing from between its teeth ; in the centre of
the cave was an earthen statue, which had three heads
of a singular and fantastic cast: they were formed by
the real skulls of a dog, a horse, and a boar; a low
tripod stood before this wild representation of the
popular Hecate.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 279
But it was not these appendages and appliances of
the cave that thrilled the blood of those who gazed fear-
fully therein — it was the face of its inmate. Before
the fire, with the light shining full upon her features,
sat a woman of considerable age. Perhaps in no coun-
try are there seen so many hags as in Italy — in no
country does beauty so awfully change, in age, to
hideousness the most appalling and revolting. But the
old woman now before them was not one of these speci-
mens of the extreme of human ugliness; on the con-
trary, her countenance betrayed the remains of a
regular but high and aquiline order of feature: with
stony eyes turned upon them — with a look that met
and fascinated theirs — they beheld in that fearful coun-
tenance the very image of a corpse! — the same, the
glazed and lustreless regard, the blue and shrunken
lips, the drawn and hollow jaw — the dead, lank hair, of
a pale grey — the livid, green, ghastly skin, which
seemed all surely tinged and tainted by the grave !
It is a dead thing ! " said Glaucus.
Nay — it stirs — it is a ghost or larva'' faltered
lone, as she clung to the Athenian's breast.
" Oh, away — away ! " groaned the slave, " it is the
Witch of Vesuvius ! "
" Who are ye ? " said a hollow and ghostly voice.
" And what do ye here ? " '
The sound, terrible and deathlike as it was — suiting
well the countenance of the speaker, and seeming rather
the voice of some bodiless wanderer of the Styx than
living mortal, would have made lone shrink back into
the pitiless fury of the storm, but Glaucus, though not
without some misgiving, drew her into the cavern.
"We are storm-beaten wanderers from the neigh-
bouring city," said he, " and decoyed hither by yon
li^ht; we crave shelter and comfort of your hearth."
28o THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
As he spoke, the fox rose from the ground, and ad-
vanced towards the strangers, showing, from end to
end, its white teeth, and deepening in its menacing
growl.
** Down, slave ! " said th^ witch ; and at the sound
of her voice the beast dropped at once, covering its
face with its brush, and keeping only its quick, vigilant
eye fixed upon the invaders of its repose. " Come to
the fire if ye will ! " said she, turning to Glaucus and his
companions. " I never welcome living thing — save
the owl, the fox, the toad, and the viper — so I cannot
welcome ye ; but come to the fire without welcome —
why stand upon form ? "
The language in which the hag addressed them was
a strange and barbarous Latin, interlarded with many
words of some more rude and ancient dialect. She did
not stir from her seat, but gazed stonily upon them as
Glaucus now released lone of her outer wrapping gar-
ments, and making her place herself on a log of wood,
which was the only other seat he perceived at hand —
fanned with his breath the embers into a more glowing
flame. The slave, encouraged by the boldness of her
superiors, divested herself also of her long pcUla, and
crept timorously to the opposite corner of the hearth.
" We disturb you, I fear,*' said the silver voice of
lone, in conciliation.
The witch did not reply — she seemed like one who
has awakened for a moment from the dead, and has
then relapsed once more into the eternal slumber.
"Tell me," said she, suddenly, and after a long
pause, " are ye brother and sister? "
" No," said lone, blushing.
" Are ye married ? "
" Not so," replied GlaucUs.
«
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 281
" Ho, lovers ! — ha ! — ha ! — ha ! " and the witch
laughed so loud and so long that the caserns rang
again.
The heart of lone stood still at that strange mirth.
Glaucus muttered a rapid counterspell to the omen —
and the slave turned as pale as the cheek of the witch
herself.
" Why dost thou laugh, old crone ? " said Glaucus,
somewhat sternlv, as he concluded his invocation.
Did I laugh ? " said the hag, absently.
She is in her dotage," whispered Glaucus: as he
said this, he caught the eye of the hag fixed upon him
with a malignrnt and vivid glare.
" Thou liest ! " said she, abruptly.
" Thou art an uncourteous welcomer,** returned
Glaucus.
" Hush ! provoke her not, dear Glaucus ! " whispered
lone.
" I will tell thee why I laughed when I discovered
ye were lovers," said the old woman. " It was because
it is a pleasure to the old and withered to look upon
young hearts like yours — ^and to know the time will
come when you will loathe each other — loathe — loathe
—ha !— ha !— ha ! "
It was now lone's turn to pray against the unpleas-
ing prophecy.
" The gods forbid ! " said she. " Yet, poor woman,
thou knowest little of love, or thou wouldst know that
It never changes."
"Was I young once, think ye?" returned the hag,
quickly ; " and am I old, and hideous, and deathly now ?
Such as IS the form, so is the heart." With these words
she sank again into a stillness profound and fearful,
as if the cessation of life itself.
282 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Hast thou dwelt here long? " said Glaucus, after a
pause, feeling uncomfortably oppressed beneath a si-
lence so appalling.
"Ah, long!— yes."
" It is but a drear abode/'
" Ha ! thou mayst well say that — Hell is beneath
us ! " replied the hag, pointing her bony finger to the
earth. " And I will tell thee a secret — the dim things
below are preparing wrath for ye above — you, the
young, and the thoughtless, and the beautiful."
" Thou utterest but evil words, ill becoming the hos-
pitable," said Glaucus ; " and in future I will brave the
tempest rather than thy welcome."
" Thou wilt do well. None should ever seek me —
save the wretched ! "
" And why the wretched ? " asked the Athenian.
" I am the witch of the mountain," replied the sor-
ceress, with a ghastly grin ; " my trade is to give hope
to the hopeless : for the crossed in love I have philtres ;
for the avaricious, promises of treasure; for the ma-
licious, potions of revenge ; for the happy and the good,
I have only what life has — curses! Trouble me no
more."
With this the grim tenant of the cave relapsed into
a silence so obstinate and sullen, that Glaucus in vain
endeavoured to draw her into farther conversation.
She did not evince, by any alteration of her locked and
rigid features, that she even heard him. Fortunately,
however, the storm, which was brief as violent, began
now to relax, the rain grew less and less fierce ; and at
last, as the clouds parted, the moon burst forth in the
purple opening of heaven, and streamed clear and full
into that desolate abode. Never had she shone, per-
haps, on a group more worthy of the painter's art. The
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 283
young, the all-beautiful lone, seated by that rude fire
— her lover already forgetful of the presence of the
hag, at her feet, gazing upward to her face, and whis-
pering sweet words — the pale and affrighted slave at
a. little distance — and the ghastly hag resting her deadly
eyes upon them ; yet seemingly serene and fearless ( for
the companionship of love hath such power) were
these beautiful beings, things of another sphere, in that
dark and unholy cavern, with its gloomy quaintness of
appurtenance. The fox regarded them from his cor-
ner with his keen and fiery eye : and as Glaucus now
turned towards the witch, he perceived for the first
time, just under her seat, the bright gaze and crested
head of a large snake: whether it was that the vivid
colouring of the Athenian's cloak, thrown over the
shoulders of lone, attracted the reptile's anger — its
crest began to glow and rise, as if menacing and pre-
paring itself to spring upon the Neapolitan; Glaucus
caught quickly at one of the half-burned logs upon the
hearth — and, as if enraged at the action, the snake came
forth from its shelter, and with a loud hiss raised itself
on end till its height nearly approached that of the
Greek.
" Witch I " cried Glaucus, " command thy creature,
or thou wilt see it dead."
*' It has been despoiled of its venom!" said the
witch, aroused at his threat ; but ere the words had left
her lip, the snake had sprung upon Glaucus; quick
and watchful, the agile Greek leaped lightly aside, and
struck so fell and dexterous a blow on the head of the
snake, that it fell prostrate and writhing among the
embers of the fire.
The hag sprung up, and stood confronting Glaucus
with a face which would have befitted the fiercest of
284 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the Furies, so utterly dire and wrathful was its expres-
sion— yet even in horror and ghastliness preserving
the outline and trace of beauty — and utterly free from
that coarse grotesque at which the imaginations of the
North have sought the source of terror.
" Thou hast/' said she, in a slow and 'steady voice —
which belied the expression of her face, so much was
it passionless and calm — " thou hast had shelter under
my roof, and warmth at my hearth ; thou hast returned
evil for good; thou hast smitten and haply slain the
thing that loved me and was mine : nay more, the creat-
ure, above all others, consecrated to gods and deemed
venerable by man ^ — now hear thy punishment. By
the moon, who is the guardian of the sorceress — ^by
Orcus, who is the treasurer of wrath — I curse thee!
and thou art cursed ! May thy love be blasted — may
thy name be blackened — may the infernals mark thee
— may thy heart wither and scorch— may thy last hour
recall to thee the prophet voice of the Saga of Vesu-
vius ! And thou," she added, turning sharply towards
lone, and raising her right arm, when Glaucus burst
impetuously on her speech : —
" Hag ! " cried he, " forbear ! Me thou hast cursed,
and I commit myself to the gods — I defy and scorn
thee! but breathe but one word against yon maiden,
and I will convert the oath on thy foul lips to thy dying
groan. Beware ! "
" I have done," replied the hag, laughing wildly ;
" for in thy doom is she who loves thee accursed. And
not the less, that I heard her lips breathe thy name, and
know by what word to commend thee to the demons.
^ A peculiar sanctity was attached by the Romans (as, in-
deed, by perhaps every ancient people) to serpents, which they
kept tame in their houses, and often introduced at their meals.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 285
Glaucus — thou art doomed ! " So saying, the witch
turned from the Athenian, and kneeling down beside
her wounded favourite, which she dragged from the
hearth, she turned to them her face no more.
" O Glaucus ! " said lone, greatly terrified, " what
have we done? Let us hasten from this place; the
storm has ceased. Good mistress, forgive him — recall
thy words — he meant but to defend himself — accept
this peace-offering to unsay the said : " and lone,
stooping, placed her purse on the hag's lap.
" Away ! " said she, bitterly — " away ! The oath
once woven the Fates only can untie. Away ! "
" Come, dearest ! *' said Glaucus, impatiently.
" Thinkest thou that the gods above us or below hear
the impotent ravings of dotage? Come!/'
Long and loud rang the echoes of the cavern with
the dread laugh of the Saga — she deigned no further
reply.
The lovers breathed more freely when they gained
the open air: yet the scene they had witnessed, the
words and the laughter of the witch, still fearfully
dwelt with lone; and even Glaucus could not thor-
oughly shake off the impression they bequeathed. The
storm had subsided — save, now and then, a low thun-
der muttered at the distance amidst the darker clouds,
or a momentary flash of lightning affronted the sov-
ereignty of the moon. With some difficulty they re-
gained the road, where they found the vehicle already
sufficiently repaired for their departure, and the carru-
carius calling loudly upon Hercules to tell him where
his charge had vanished.
Glaucus vainlv endeavoured to cheer the exhausted
spirits of lone; and scarce less vainly to recover the
elastic tone of his own natural gaiety. They soon ar-
286 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
rived before the gate of the city : as it opened to them,
a litter borne by slaves impeded the way.
" It is too late for egress/' cried the sentinel to the
inmate of the litter.
" Not so," said a voice, which the lovers started to
hear ; it was a voice they well recognised. " I am bound
to the villa of Marcus Polybius. I shall return shortly.
I am Arbaces the Egyptian."
The scruples of him of the gate were removed, and
the litter passed close beside the carriage that bore the
lovers.
" Arbaces, at this hour ! — scarce recovered too, me-
thinks I Whither and for what can he leave the city ? "
said Glaucus.
" Alas ! " replied lone, bursting into tears, " my soul
feels still more and more the omen of evil. Preserve
us, O ye Gods ! or at least," she murmured inly, " pre-
serve my Glaucus."
CHAPTER X
THE LORD OF THE BURNING BELT AND HIS MINION. —
FATE WRITES HER PROPHECY IN RED LETTERS, BUT
WHO SHALL READ THEM?
Arbaces had tarried only till the cessation of the
tempest allowed him, under cover of the night, to seek
the Saga of Vesuvius.
Borne by those of his trustier slaves in whom in all
more secret expeditions he was -accustomed to confide,
he lay extended along his litter, and resigning his san-
guine heart to the contemplation of vengeance grati-
fied and love possessed. The slaves in so short a jour-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 287
ney moved very little slower than the ordinary pace
of mules ; and Arbaces soon arrived at the commence-
ment of a narrow path, which the lovers had not been
fortunate enough to discover; but which, skirting the
thick vines, led at once to the habitation of the witch.
Here he rested the litter; and bidding his slaves con-
ceal themselves and the vehicle among the vines from
the observation of any chance passenger, he mounted
alone, with steps still feeble but supported by a long
staff, the drear and sharp ascent.
Not a drop of rain fell from the tranquil heaven;
but the moisture dripped mournfully from the laden
boughs of the vine, and now and then collected in tiny
pools in the crevices and hollows of the rocky way.
" Strange passions these for a philosopher," thought
Arbaces, " that lead one like me just new from the bed
of death, and lapped even in health amidst the roses
of luxury, across such nocturnal paths as this ; but Pas-
sion and Vengeance treading to their goal can make an
Elysium of a Tartarus." High, clear, and melancholy
shone the moon above the road of that dark wayfarer,
glassing herself in every pool that lay before him, and
sleeping in shadow along the sloping mount. He saw
before him the same light that had guided the steps of
his intended victims, but, no longer contrasted by the
blackened clouds, it shone less redly clear.
He paused, as at length he approached the mouth of
the cavern, to recover breath; and then, with his
wonted collected and stately mien, he crossed the un-
hallowed threshold.
The fox sprang up at the ingress of this new comer,
and by a long howl announced another visitor to his
mistress.
The witch had resumed her seat, and her aspect of
288 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
grave-like and grim repose. By her feet, upon a bed
of dry weeds which half covered it, lay the wounded
snake; but the quick eye of the Egyptian caught its
scales glittering in the reflected light of the opposite
fire, as it writhed, — now contracting, now lengthening,
its folds, in pain and unsated anger.
" Down, slave ! " said the witch, as before, to the fox ;
and, as before, the animal dropped to the ground —
mute, but vigilant.
" Rise, servant of Nox and Erebus ! " said Arbaces,
commandingly ; " a superior in thine art salutes thee !
rise, and welcome him."
At these words the hag turned her gaze upon the
Egyptian's towering form and dark features. She
looked long and fixedly upon him, as he stood before
her in his Oriental robe, and folded arms, and stead-
fast and haughty brow. " Who art thou," she said at
last, " that callest thyself greater in art than the Saga
of the Burning Fields, and the daughter of the perished
Etrurian race ? "
" I am he," answered Arbaces, " from whom all cul-
tivators of magic, from north to south, from east to
west, from the Ganges and the Nile to the vales of
Thessaly and the shores of the yellow Tiber, have
stooped to learn."
" There is but one such man in these places," an-
swered the witch, " whom the men of the outer world,
unknowing his loftier attributes and more secret fame,
call Arbaces the Egyptian : to us of a higheV nature and
deeper knowledge, his rightful appellation is Hermes
of the Burning Girdle."
" Look again," returned Arbaces : ** I am he."
As he spoke he drew aside his robe, and revealed a
cincture seemingly of fife, that burned around his
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 289
waist, clasped in the centre by a plate whereon was en-
graven some sign apparently vague and unintelligible,
but which was evidently not unknown to the Saga.
She rose hastily, and threw herself at the feet of Ar-
baces. " I have seen then,'' said she, in a voice of deep
humility, " the Lord of the Mighty Girdle — vouchsafe
my homage."
" Rise," said the Egyptian ; " I have need of thee."
So saying, he placed himself on the same log of wood
on which lone had rested before, and motioned to the
witch to resume her seat.
" Thou sayest," said he, as she obeyed, " that thou
art a daughter of the ancient Etrurian ^ tribes ; the
mighty walls of whose rock-built cities yet frown
above the robber race that hath seized upon their an-
cient reign. Partly came those tribes from Greece,
partly were they exiles frbm a more burning and
primeval soil. In either case art thou of Egyptian
lineage, for the Grecian masters of the aboriginal helot
were among the restless sons whom the Nile banished
from her bosom. Equally then, O Saga ! thy descent
is from ancestors that swore allegiance to mine own.
By birth as by knowledge, art thou the subject of Ar-
baces. Hear me, then, and obey ! "
The witch bowed her head.
"Whatever art we possess in sorcery," continued
Arbaces, " we are sometimes driven to natural means
to attain our object. The ring ^ and the crystal,* and
^ The Etrurians (it may be superfluous to mention) were
celebrated for their enchantments. Arbaces is wrong in as-
suming their Egyptian origin, but the Egyptians arrogated the
ancestry of almost every one of the more illustrious races, and
there are not wanting modern schoolmen who too credulously
support the claim.
* AaKTvXA>fmyT9ta, ' KpwrraXkOfiaarrtla.
19
290 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the ashes ^ and the herbs,^ do not give unerring divina-
tions ; neither do the higher mysteries of the moon yield
even the possessor of the girdle a dispensation from
the necessity of employing ever and anon human meas-
ures for a human object. Mark me, then: thou art
deeply skilled, methinks, in the secrets of the more
deadly herbs; thou knowest those which arrest life,
which burn and scorch the soul from out her citadel, or
freeze the channels of young blood into that ice which
no sun can melt. Do I overrate thy skill ? Speak, and
truly ! "
" Mighty Hermes, such lore is, indeed, mine own.
Deign to look at these ghostly and corpse-like features :
they have waned from the hues of life merely by watch-
ing over the rank herbs which simmer night and day in
yon cauldron."
The Egyptian moved his seat from so unblessed or
so unhealthful a vicinity as the witch spoke.
" It is well," said he ; " thou hast learned that maxim
of all the deeper knowledge which saith, ' Despise the
body to make wise the mind.' But to thy task. There
cometh to thee by to-morrow's starlight a vain maiden,
seeking of thine art a love-charm to fascinate from an-
other the eyes that should utter but soft tales to her
own; instead of thy philtres, give the maiden one of
thy most powerful poisons. Let the lover breathe his
vows to the Shades."
The witch trembled from head to foot.
" Oh pardon ! pardon ! dread master," said she, f al-
teringly, " but this I dare not. The law in these cities
is sharp and vigilant; they will seize, they will slay
me.
ti
For what purpose, then, thy herbs and thy potions,
vain Saga ? " said Arbaces, sneeringly.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 291
The witch hid her loathsome face with her hands.
" Oh ! years ago/* said she, in a voice unlike her
usual tones, so plaintive was it, and so soft, " I was
not the thing that I am now. I loved, I fancied my-
self beloved.''
" And what connection hath thy love, witch, with
my commands ? " said Arbaces, impetuously.
" Patience," resumed the witch ; *** patience, I im-
plore. I loved! Another and less fair than I — ^yes,
by Nemesis! less fair — allured from me my cljosen.
I was of that dark Etrurian tribe to whom most of all
were known the secrets of the gloomier magic. My
mother was herself a Saga : she shared the resentment
of her child ; from her hands I received the potion that
was to restore me his love; and from her, also, the
poison that was to destroy my rival. Oh, crush me,
dread walls ! my trembling hands mistook the phials,
my lover fell indeed at my feet: but dead! dead!
Since then, what has been life to me? I became sud-
denly old ; I devoted myself to the sorceries of my race ;
still by an irresistible impulse I curse myself with an
awful penance; still I seek the most noxious herbs;
still I concoct the poisons; still I imagine that I am
to give them to my hated rival ; still I pour them into
the phial ; still I fancy that they shall blast her beauty
to the dust; still I wake and see the quivering body,
the foaming lips, the glazing eyes of my Aulus — ^mur-
dered, and by me ! "
The skeleton frame of the witch shook beneath
strong convulsions.
Arbaces gazed upon her with a curious though con-
temptuous eye.
" And this foul thing has yet human emotions I "
thought he; "she still cowers over the ashes of the
292 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
same fire that consumes Arbaces! — Such are we all!
Mystic is the tie of those mortal passions that unite
the greatest and the least."
He did not reply till she had somewhat recovered
herself, and now sat rocking to and fro in her seat,
with glassy eyes fixed on the opposite flame, and large
tears rolling down her livid cheeks.
** A grievous tale is thine, in truth," said Arbaces.
** But these emotions are fit only for youth — age should
harden our hearts to all things but ourselves ; as every
year adds a scale to the shell-fish, so should each year
wall and incrust the heart. Think of those frenzies
no more! And now, listen to me again! By the re-
venge that was dear to thee I command thee to obey
me ! It is for vengeance that I seek thee ! This youth
whom I would sweep from my path has crossed me,
despite my spells : — this thing of purple and broidery,
of smiles and glances, soulless and mindless, with no
charm but that of beauty — accursed be it! — ^this in-
sect— ^this Glaucus — I tell thee, by Orcus and by
Nemesis, he must die."
And working himself up at every word, the Egyp-
tian, forgetful of his debility — of this strange compan-
ion— of everything but his own vindictive rage, strode,
with large and rapid steps, the gloomy cavern.
"Glaucus! saidst thou, mighty master?" said the
witch, abruptly ; and her dim eye glared at the name
with all that fierce resentment at the memory of small
affronts so common amongst the solitary and the
shunned.
"Ay, so he is called; but what matters the name?
Let it not be heard as that of a living man three days
from this date ! "
" Hear me," said the witch, breaking from a short
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 293
reverie into which she was plunged after his last sen-
tence of the Egyptian. " Hear me ! I am thy thing
and thy slave! spare me! If I give to the maiden
thou speakest of that which would destroy the life of
Glaucus, I shall be surely detected — ^the dead ever find
avengers. Nay, dread man! if thy visit to me be
tracked, if thy hatred to Glaucus be known, thou may-
est have need of thy archest magic to protect thyself I "
" Ha I " said Arbaces, stopping suddenly short ; and
as a proof of that blindness with which passion dark-
ens the eyes even of the most acute, this was the first
time that the risk he himself ran by this method of
vengeance had occurred to a mind ordinarily wary and
circumspect.
" But," continued the witch, " if instead of that
which shall arrest the heart, I give that which shall
sear and blast the brain — which shall make him who
quaffs it unfit for the uses and career of life — an ab-
ject, raving, benighted thing — smiting sense to driv-
elling, youth to dotage — will not thy vengeance be
equally sated — thy object equally attained? "
" Oh witch ! no longer the servant, but the sister —
the equal of Arbaces — how much brighter is woman's
wit, even in vengeance, than ours! how much more
exquisite than death is such a doom ! "
" And," continued the hag, gloating over her fell
scheme, " in this is but little danger : for by ten thou-
sand methods, which men forbear to seek, can our vic-
tim become mad. He may have been among vines and
seen a nymph ^ — or the vine itself may have had the
same effect — ha, ha! they never inquire too scrupu-
lously into these matters in which the gods may be
1 To see a nymph was to become mad, according to classic
and popular superstition.
294 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
agents. And let the worst arrive — let it be known that
it is a love charm — why, madness is a common effect
of philtres, and even the fair she that gave it finds in-
dulgence in the excuse. Mighty Hermes, have I min-
istered to thee cunningly ? "
" Thou shalt have twenty years' longer date for
this," returned Arbaces. " I will write anew the epoch
of thy fate on the face of the pale stars — ^thou shalt
not serve in vain the Master of the Flaming Belt. And
here. Saga, carve thee out, by these golden tools, a
warmer cell in this dreary cavern — one service to me
shall countervail a thousand divinations by sieve and
shears, to the gaping rustics." So saying, he cast
upon the floor a heavy purse, which clinked not un-
musically to the ear of the hag, who loved the con-
sciousness of possessing the means to purchase com-
forts she disdained. " Farewell," said Arbaces, " fail
not — outwatch the stars in concocting thy beverage —
thou shalt lord it over thy sisters at the Walnut Tree ^
when thou tellest them that thy patron and thy friend
is Hermes the Egyptian. To-morrow night we meet
again."
He stayed not to hear the valediction or the thanks
of the witch : with a quick step he passed into the moon-
lit air, and hastened down the mountain.
The witch, who followed his steps to the threshold,
stood long at the entrance of the cavern, gazing fixedly
on his receding form; and as the sad moonlight
streamed upon her shadowy form and deathlike face,
emerging from the dismal rocks, it seemed as if one,
gifted, indeed, by supernatural magic had escaped from
1 The celebrated and immemorial rendezvous of the witches
at Benevento. The winged serpent attached to it, long an
object of idolatry in those parts, was probably consecrated by
Egyptian superstitions.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 295
the dreary Orcus; and the foremost of its ghostly
throng stood at its black portals — vainly summoning
his return, or vainly sighing to rejoin him. The hag,
then slowly re-entering the cave, droningly picked up
the heavy purse, took the lamp from its stand, and,
passing to the remotest depth of her cell, a black and
abrupt passage, which was not visible, save at a near
approach, closed round as it was with jutting and
sharp crags, yawned before her ; she went several yards
along this gloomy path, which sloped gradually down-
wards, as if towards the bowels of the earth, and, lift-
ing a stone, deposited her treasure in a hole beneath,
which as the lamp pierced its secrets, seemed already
to contain coins of various value, wrung from the
credulity or gratitude of her visitors.
" I love to look at you," said she, apostrophising the
moneys ; " for when I see you I feel that I am indeed
of power. And I am to have twenty years' longer life
to increase your store ! O thou great Hermes ! "
She replaced the stone, and continued her path on-
ward for some paces, when she stopped before a deep
irregular fissure in the earth. Here, as she bent —
strange, rumbling, hoarse, and distant sounds might be
heard, while ever and anon, with a loud and grating
noise which, to use a homely but faithful simile,
seemed to resemble the grinding of steel upon wheels,
volumes of streaming and dark smoke issued forth,
and rushed spirally along the cavern.
" The Shades are noisier than their wont," said the
hag, shaking her grey locks; and, looking into the
cavity, she beheld, far down, glimpses of a long streak
of light, intensely but darkly red. " Strange ! " she
said, shrinking back ; " it is only within the last two
days that dull deep light hath been visible — what can
it portend ? "
296 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The fox, who had attended the steps of his fell mis-
tress, uttered a dismal howl, and ran cowering back
to the inner cave; a cold shuddering seized the hag
herself at the cry of the animal, which, causeless as it
seemed, the superstitions of the time considered deeply
ominous. She muttered her placatory charm, and tot-
tered back into her cavern, where, amidst her herbs
and incantations, she prepared to execute the orders
of the Egyptian.
" He called me dotard," said she, as the smoke curled
from the hissing cauldron: " when the jaws drop, and
the grinders fall, and the heart scarce beats, it is a
pitiable thing to dote; but when," she added, with a
savage and exulting grin, *' the young, and the beauti-
ful, and the strong, are suddenly smitten into idiocy
— ah, that is terrible! Burn flame — simmer herb —
swelter toad — I cursed him, and he shall ht cursed ! "
On that night, and at the same hour which witnessed
the dark and unholy interview between Arbaces and the
Saga, Apaecides was baptised.
CHAPTER XI
PROGRESS OF EVENTS. — ^THE PLOT THICKENS. — ^THE
WEB IS WOVEN, BUT THE NET CHANGES HANDS.
" And you have the courage, then, Julia, to seek the
Witch of Vesuvius this evening ; in company, too, with
that fearful man ? "
*' Why, Nydia?'' replied Julia, timidly; "dost thou
really think there is anything to dread? These old
hags, with their enchanted mirrors, their trembling
sieves, and their moon-gathered herbs, are, I imagine,
but crafty impostors, who have learned, perhaps, noth-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 297
ing but the very charm for which I apply to their
skill, and which is drawn but from the knowledge of
the field's herbs and simples. Wherefore should I
dread?"
" Dost thou not fear thy companion ? "
" What, Arbaces ? By Dian, I never saw lover more
courteous than that same magician ! And were he not
so dark, he would be even handsome."
Blind as she was, Nydia had the penetration to per-
ceive that Julia's mind was not one that the gallantries
of Arbaces were likely to terrify. She therefore dis-
suaded her no more; but nursed in her excited heart
the wild and increasing desire to know if sorcery had
indeed a spell to fascinate love to love.
" Let me go with thee, noble Julia," said she at
length ; " my presence is no protection, but I should
like to be beside thee to the last."
" Thine offer pleases me much," replied the daugh-
ter of Diomed. " Yet how canst thou contrive it ? we
may not return until late, they will miss thee."
" lone is indulgent," replied Nydia. " If thou wilt
permit me to sleep beneath thy roof, I will say that
thou, an early patroness and friend, hast invited me
to pass the day with thee, and sing thee my Thessalian
songs ; her courtesy will readily grant to thee so light
a boon."
" Nay, ask for thyself ! " said the haughty Julia.
*' I stoop to request no favour from the Neapolitan ! "
** Well, be it so. I will take my leave now ; make
my request, which I know will be readily granted, and
return shortly."
" Do so ; and thy bed shall be prepared in my own
chamber."
With that, Nydia left the fair Pompeian.
295 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
On her way back to lone she was met by the chariot
of Glaucus, on whose fiery and curveting steeds was
riveted the gaze of the crowded street.
He kindly stopped for a moment to speak to the
flower-girl.
" Blooming as thine own roses, my gentle Nydia !
and how is thy fair mistress ? — recovered, I trust, from
the effects of the storm ? "
" I have not seen her this morning," answered
Nydia, " but "
" But what ? draw back — the horses are too near
thee."
" But think you lone will permit me to pass the day
with Julia, the daughter of Diomed? She wishes it,
and was kind to me when I had few friends."
" The gods bless thy grateful heart ! I will answer
for Tone's permission."
" Then I may stay over the night, and return to-
morrow ? " said Nydia, shrinking from the praise she
so little merited.
" As thou and fair Julia please. Commend me to
her ; and hark ye, Nydia, when thou hearest her speak,
note the contrast of her voice with that of the silver-
toned lone. — Vale!''
His spirits entirely recovered from the effects of the
past night, his locks waving in the wind, his joyous
and elastic heart bounding with every spring of his
Parthian steeds, a very prototype of his country's god,
full of youth and of love — Glaucus was borne rapidly
to his mistress.
Enjoy while ye may the present — who can read the
future ?
As the evening darkened, Julia, reclined within her
litter which was capacious enough also to admit her
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 299
blind companion, took her way to the rural baths in-
dicated by Arbaces. To her natural levity of disposi-
tion, her enterprise brought less terror than of pleas-
urable excitement ; above all, she glowed at the thought
of her coming triumph over the hated Neapolitan.
A small but gay group was collected round the door
of the villa, as her litter passed by it to the private
entrance of the baths appropriated to the women.
" Methinks, by this dim light," said one of the by-
standers, " I recognise the slaves of Diomed."
" True, Clodius," said Sallust : " it is probably the
litter of his daughter Julia. She is rich, my friend;
why dost thou not proffer thy suit to her ? "
" Why, I had once hoped that Glaucus would have
married her. She does not disguise her attachment;
and then, as he gambles freely and with ill-suc-
cess "
" The sesterces would have passed to thee, wise
Clodius. A wife is a good thing — when it belongs to
another man ! "
" But," continued Clodius, " as Glaucus is, I under-
stand, to wed the Neapolitan, I think I must even try
my chance with the rejected maid. After all, the lamp
of Hymen will be gilt, and the vessel will reconcile
one to the odour of the flame. I shall only protest,
my Sallust, against Diomed's making thee trustee of
his daughter's fortune." ^
" Ha ! ha ! let us within, my comissator; the wine
and the garlands wait us."
Dismissing her slaves to that part of the house set
1 It was an ancient Roman law, that no one should make a
woman his heir. This law was evaded by the parent's assign-
ing his fortune to a friend in trust for his daughter, but the
trustee might keep it if he liked. The law had, however, fallen
into disuse before the date of this story.
300 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
apart for their entertainment, Julia entered the baths
with Nydia, and declining the offers of the attendants,
passed by a private door into the garden behind.
" She comes by appointment, be sure," said one of
the slaves.
" What is that to thee ? " said a superintendent,
sourly ; " she pays for the baths, and does not waste
the saffron. Such appointments are the best of the
trade. Hark ! do you not hear the widow Fulvia clap-
ping her hands ? Run, fool ! — run ! "
Julia and Nydia, avoiding the more public part of
the garden, arrived at the place specified by the Egyp-
tian. In a small circular plot of grass the stars
gleamed upon the statue gf Silenus: — the merry god
reclined upon a fragment of rock — ^the lynx of Bac-
chus at his feet — and ovef his mouth he held, with ex-
tended arm, a bunch of grapes, which he seemingly
laughed to welcome ere he devoured.
" I see not the magician,'' said Julia, looking round ;
when, as she spoke, the Egyptian slowly emerged from
the neighbouring foliage, and the light fell palely over
his sweeping robes.
''Salve, sweet maiden! — But ha! whom hast thou
there ? we must have no companions ! V
" It is but the blind flower-girl, wise magician," re-
plied Julia ; " herself a Thessalian."
" Oh ! Nydia ! " said the Egyptian ; " I know her
well."
Nydia drew back and shuddered.
" Thou hast been at my house, methinks ! " said he
approaching his voice to Nydia's ear ; " thou knowest
the oath! — Silence and secrecy, now as then, or be-
ware ! Yet," he added, musingly to himself, " why
confide more than is necessary, even in the blind —
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 301
Julia, canst thou trust thyself alone with me ? Believe
me the magician is less formidable than he seems."
As he spoke he gently drew Julia aside.
" The witch loves not many visitors at once," said
he ; " leave Nydia here till your return ; she can be of
no assistance to us: and for protection — your own
beauty suffices — your own beauty and your own rank ;
yes, Julia, I know thy name and birth. Come, trust
thyself with me, fair rival of the youngest of the
Naiads ! "
The vain Julia was not, as we have seen, easily af-
frighted; she was moved by the flattery of Arbaces,
and she readily consented to suffer Nydia to await her
return; nor did Nydia press her presence. At the
sound of the Egyptian's voice all her terror of him re-
turned ; she felt a sentiment of pleasure at learning^ she
was not to travel in his companionship.
She returned to the Bath-house, and in one of the
private chambers waited their return. Many and bit-
ter were the thoughts of this wild girl as she sat there
in her eternal darkness. She thought of her own deso-
late fate, far from her native land, far from the bland
cares that once assuaged the April sorrows of child-
hood;— deprived of the light of day, with none but
strangers to guide her steps, accursed by the one soft
feeling of her heart, loving and without hope, save the
dim and unholy ray which shot across her mind, as her
Thessalian fancies questioned of the force of spells and
the gifts of magic !
Nature had sown in the heart of this poor girl the
seeds of virtue never destined to ripen. The lessons
of adversity are not always salutary — sometimes they
soften and amend, but as often they indurate and per-
vert. If we consider ourselves more harshly treated
302 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
by fate than those around us, and do not acknowledge
in our own deeds the justice of the severity, we become
too apt to deem the world our enemy, to case ourselves
in defiance, to wrestle against our softer self, and to
indulge the darker passions which are so easily fer-
mented by the sense of injustice. Sold early into slav-
ery, sentenced to a sordid task-master, exchanging her
situation only yet more to embitter her lot — ^the kind-
lier feelings, naturally profuse in the breast of Nydia,
were nipped and blighted. Her sense of right and
wrong was confused by a passion to which she had so
madly surrendered herself; and the same intense and
tragic emotions which we read of in the women of the
classic age — a Myrrha, a Medea — and which hurried
and swept the whole soul when once delivered to love
— ruled, and rioted in, her breast.
Time passed ; a light step entered the chamber where
Nydia yet indulged her gloomy meditations.
*' Oh, thanked be the immortal gods ! " said Julia,
" I have returned, I have left that terrible cavern !
Come, Nydia ! let us away forthwith ! "
It was not till they were seated in the litter that Julia
again spoke.
" Oh ! '' said she, trembling, " such a scene ! such
fearful incantations ! and the dead face of the hag ! —
But, let us talk not of it. I have obtained the potion
— she pledges its effect. My rival shall be suddenly
indifferent to his eye, and I, I alone, the idol of
Glaucus."
Glaucus ! " exclaimed Nydia.
Ay ! I told thee, girl, at first, that it was not the
Athenian whom I loved : but I see now that I may trust
thee wholly — it is the beautiful Greek ! "
What then were Nydia's emotions! She had con-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 303
nived, she had assisted, in tearing Glaucus from lone ;
but only to transfer, by all the power of magic, his
affections yet more hopelessly to another. Her heart
swelled almost to suffocation — she gasped for breath
— in the darkness of the vehicle, Julia did not perceive
the agitation of her companion; she went on rapidly
dilating on the promised effect of her acquisition, and
on her approaching triumph over lone, every now and
then abruptly digressing to the horror of the scene she
had quitted — the unmoved mien of Arbaces, and his
authority over the dreadful Saga.
Meanwhile Nydia recovered her self-possession; a
thought flashed across her; she slept in the chamber
of Julia — she might possess herself of the potion.
They arrived at the house of Diomed, and descended
to Julia's apartment, where the night's repast awaited
them.
" Drink, Nydia, thou must be cold ; the air was chill
to-night ; as for me, my veins are yet ice.*'
And Julia unhesitatingly quaffed deep draughts of
the spiced wine.
'*Thou hast the potion," said Nydia; "let me hold
it in my hands. How small the phial is ! of what col-
our is the draught ? "
" Clear as crystal," replied Julia, as she retook the
philtre ; " thou couldst not tell it from this water. The
witch assures me it is tasteless. Small though the
phial, it suffices for a life's fidelity : it is to be poured
into any liquid ; and Glaucus will only know what he
has quaffed by the effect."
Exactly like this water in appearance ? "
Yes, sparkling and colourless as this. How bright
it seems! it is as the very essence of moonlit dews.
Bright thing ! how thou shinest on my hopes through
thy crystal vase ! "
(f
304 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
((
And how is it sealed ? *'
But by one little stopper — I withdraw it now — ^the
draught gives no odour. Strange, that that which
speaks to neither sense should thus command all ! *'
" Is the effect instantaneous ? "
" Usually ;— but sometimes it remains dormant for
a few hours."
" Oh, how sweet is this perfume ! " said Nydia, sud-
denly, as she took up a small bottle on the table, and
bent over its fragrant contents.
" Thinkest thou so ? the bottle is set with gems of
some value. Thou wouldst not have the bracelet yes-
ter morn ; — wilt thou take the bottle ? "
" It ought to be such perfumes as these that should
remind one who cannot see of the generous Julia. If
the bottle be not too costly "
" Oh, I have a thousand costlier ones : take it,
child ! "
Nydia bowed her gratitude, and placed the bottle in
her vest.
** And the draught would be equally efficacious, who-
ever administers it ? "
'* If the most hideous hag beneath the sun bestowed
it, such is its asserted virtue that Glaucus would deem
her beautiful, and none but her ! "
Julia, warmed by wine, and the reaction of her spir-
its, was now all animation and delight; she laughed
loud and talked on a hundred matters — ^nor was it till
the night had advanced far towards morning that she
summoned her slaves and undressed.
When they were dismissed, she said to Nydia, —
" I will not suffer this holy draught to quit my pres-
ence till the hour comes for its uses. Lie under my
pillow, bright spirit, and give me happy dreams I "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 305
So saying, she placed the potion under her pillow.
Nydia's heart beat violently.
" Why dost thou drink that unmixed water, Nydia ?
Take the wine by its side/'
" I am fevered," replied the blind girl, " and the
water cools me. I will place this bottle by my bed-
side, it refreshes in these summer nights, when the
dews of sleep fall not on our lips. Fair Julia, I must
leave thee very early — so lone bids — ^perhaps before
thou art awake; accept, therefore, now my congratu-
lations."
"Thanks: when next we meet you may find GlaU-
cus at my feet." "^
They had retired to their couches, and Julia, worn
out by the excitement of the day, soon slept. But
anxious and burning thoughts rolled over the mind of
the wakeful Thessalian. She listened to the calm
breathing of Julia ; and her ear, accustomed to the fin-
est distinctions of sound, speedily assured her of the
deep slumber of her companion.
" Now befriend me, Venus ! " said she softly.
She rose gently, and poured the perfume from the
gift of Julia upon the marble floor — she rinsed it sev-
eral times carefully with the water that was beside her,
and then easily finding the bed of Julia (for night to
her was as day), she pressed her trembling hand un-
der the pillow and seized the potion. Julia stirred not,
her breath regularly fanned the burning cheek of the
blind girl. Nydia, then, opening the phial, poured its
contents into the bottle, which easily contained them;
and then refilling the former reservoir of the potion
with that limpid water which Julia had assured her
it so resembled, she once more placed the phial in its
20
3o6 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
former place. She then stole again to her couch, and
waited — with what thoughts! — the dawning day.
The sun had risen — ^Julia slept still — Nydia noise-
lessly dressed herself, placed her treasure carefully in
her vest, took up her staff, and hastened to quit the
house.
The porter, Medon, saluted her kindly as she de-
scended the steps that led to the street : she heard him
not; her mind was confused and lost in the whirl of
tumultuous thoughts, each thought a passion. She
felt the pure morning air upon her cheek, but it cooled
not her scorching veins.
" Glaucus," she murmured, " all the love-charms of
the wildest magic could not make thee love me as I
love thee. lone ! — ^ah ; away hesitation ! away remorse !
Glaucus, my fate is in thy smile ; and thine ! O hope !
O joy ! O transport ! — thy fate is in these hands ! "
BOOK IV
Philtra nocent animis, vimque furoris habent. — Ovid.
Philtres are baneful to the reasoning mind,
And have the strength of madness.
CHAPTER I
REFLECTIONS ON THE ZEAL OF THE EARLY CHRISTIANS.
— TWO MEN COME TO A PERILOUS RESOLVE. — WALLS
HAVE EARS — PARTICULARLY SACRED WALLS.
Whoever regards the early history of Christianity
will perceive how necessary to its triumph was that
fierce spirit of zeal, which, fearing no danger, accept-
ing no compromise, inspired its champions and sus-
tained its martyrs. In a dominant church the genius
of intolerance betrays its cause ; — ^in a weak and a per-
secuted church, the same genius mainly supports. It
was necessary to scorn, to loathe, to abhor the creeds
of other men, in order to conquer the temptations
which they presented — it was necessary rigidly to be-
lieve not only that the Gospel was the true faith, but
the sole true faith that saved, in order to nerve the
disciple to the austerity of its doctrine, and to encour-
age him to the sacred and perilous chivalry of con-
verting the Polytheist and the Heathen. The sectarian
sternness which confined virtue and heaven to a chosen
few, which saw demons in other gods, and the penal-
ties of hell in another religion — made the believer nat-
307
3o8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
urally anxious to convert all to whom he felt the ties
of human affection; and the circle thus traced by
benevolence to man was yet more widened by a desire
for the glory of God. It was for the honour of the
Christian faith that the Christian boldly forced its ten-
ets upon the scepticism of some, the repugnance of
others, the sage contempt of the philosopher, the pious
shudder of the people; — his very intolerance supplied
him with his fittest instruments of success ; and the soft
Heathen began at last to imagine there must indeed be
something holy in a zeal wholly foreign to his experi-
ence, which stopped at no obstacle, dreaded no danger,
and even at the torture, or on the scaffold, referred a
dispute far other than the calm differences of specu-
lative philosophy to the tribunal of an Eternal Judge.
It was thus that the same fervour which made the
Churchman of the middle age a bigot without mercy,
made the Christian of the early days a hero without
fear.
Of these more fiery, daring, and earnest natures, not
the least ardent was Olinthus. No sooner had Apae-
cides been received by the rites of baptism into the
bosom of the Church, than the Nazarene hastened to
make him conscious of the impossibility to retain the
office and robes of priesthood. He could not, it was
evident, profess to worship God, and continue even
outwardly to honour the idolatrous altars of the Fiend.
Nor was this all ; the sanguine and impetuous mind
of Olinthus beheld in the power of Apaecides the means
of divulging to the deluded people the juggling mys-
teries of the oracular Isis. He thought Heaven had
sent this instrument of his design in order to disabuse
the eyes of the crowd, and prepare the way, perchance,
for the conversion of a whole city. He did not hesi-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 309
tate then to appeal to all the new-kindled enthusiasm
of Apaecides, to arouse his courage, and to stimulate
his zeal. They met, according to previous agreement,
the evening after the baptism of Apaecides, in the grove
of Cybele, which we have before described.
" At the next solemn consultation of the oracle," said
Olinthus, as he proceeded in the warmth of his ad-
dress, " advance yourself to the railing, proclaim aloud
to the people the deception they endure, invite them to
enter, to be themselves the witness of the gross but art-
ful mechanism of imposture thou hast described to me.
Fear not — the Lord, who protected Daniel, shall pro-
tect thee; we, the community of Christians, will be
amongst the crowd ; we will urge on the shrinking : and
in the first flush of the popular indignation and shame,
I myself, upon those very altars, will plant the palm-
branch typical of the Gospel — and to my tongue shall
descend the rushing Spirit of the living God."
Heated and excited as he was, this suggestion was
not unpleasing to Apaecides. He was rejoiced at so
early an opportunity of distinguishing his faith in his
new sect, and to his holier feelings were added those
of a vindictive loathing at the imposition he had him-
self suffered, and a desire to avenge it. In that san-
guine and elastic overbound of obstacles (the rashness
necessary to all who undertake venturous and lofty
actions), neither Olinthus nor the proselyte perceived
the impediments to the success of their scheme, which
might be found in the reverent superstition of the peo-
ple themselves, who would probably be loth, before the
sacred altars of the great Egyptian goddess, to believe
even the testimony of her priest against her power.
Apaecides then assented to this proposal with a readi-
ness which delighted Olinthus. They parted with the
3IO THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
understanding that Olinthus should confer with the
more important of his Christian brethren on his great
enterprise, should receive their advice and the assur-
ances of their support on the eventful day. It so
chanced that one of the festivals of Isis was to be held
on the second day after this conference. The festival
proffered a ready occasion for the design. They ap-
pointed to meet once more on the next evening at the
same spot ; and in that meeting were finally to be settled
the order and details of the disclosure for the following
day.
It happened that the latter part of this conference
had been held near the sacellum, or small chapel, which
I have described in the early part of this work ; and so
soon as the forms of the Christian and the priest had
disappeared from the grove, a dark and ungainly figure
emerged from behind the chapel.
" I have tracked you with some effect, my brother
flamen," soliloquised the eavesdropper ; " you, the
priest of Isis, have not for mere idle discussion con-
ferred with this gloomy Christian. Alas ! that I could
not hear all your precious plot : enough ! I find, at least,
that you meditate revealing the sacred mysteries, and
that to-morrow you meet again at this place to plan
the bow and the when. May Osiris sharpen my ears
then to detect the whole of your unheard-of audacity !
When I have learned more I must confer at once with
Arbaces. We will frustrate you, my friends, deep as
you think yourselves. At present, my breast is a locked
treasury of your secret.''
Thus muttering, Calenus, for it was he, wrapped his
robe round him, and strode thoughtfully homeward.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 311
CHAPTER H
A CLASSIC HOST, COOK, AND KITCHEN. — ^APiECIDES
SEEKS lONE. — ^THEIR CONVERSATION.
It was then the day for Diomed's banquet to the
most select of his friends. The graceful Glaucus, the
beautiful lone, the official Pansa, the high-born Clo-
dius, the immortal Fulvius, the exquisite Lepidus, the
epicurean Sallust, were not the only honourers of his
festival. He expected, also, an invalid senator from
Rome (a man of considerable repute and favour at
court) and a great warrior from Herculaneum, who
had fought with Titus against the Jews, and having en-
riched himself prodigiously in the wars, was always
told by his friends that his country was eternally in-
debted to his disinterested exertions ! The party, how-
ever, extended to a yet greater number ; for although,
critically speaking, it was, at one time, thought inele-
gant among the Romans to entertain less than three or
more than nine at their banquets, yet this rule was
easily disregarded by the ostentatious. And we are
told, indeed, in history, that one of the most splendid
of these entertainers usually feasted a select party of
three hundred. Diomed, however, more modest, con-
tented himself with doubling the number of the Muses.
His party consisted of eighteen, no unfashionable num-
ber in the present day.
It was the morning of Diomed's banquet ; and Dio-
med himself, though he greatly affected the gentleman
and the scholar, retained enough of his mercantile ex-
perience to know that a master's eye makes a ready
servant. Accordingly, with his tunic ungirdled on his
312 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
portly stomach, his easy slippers on his feet, a small
wand in his hand, wherewith he now directed the gaze
and now corrected the back, of some duller menial, he
went from chamber to chamber of his costly villa.
He did not disdain even a visit to that sacred apart-
ment in which the priests of the festival prepare their
offerings. On entering the kitchen, his ears were
agreeably stunned by the noise of dishes and pans, of
oaths and commands. Small as this indispensable
chamber seems to have been in all the houses of Pom-
peii, it was, nevertheless, usually fitted up with all that
amazing variety of stoves and shapes, stewpans and
saucepans, cutters and moulds, without which a cook
of spirit, no matter whether he be an ancient or a mod-
ern, declares it utterly impossible that he can give you
anything to eat. And as fuel was then, as now, dear
and scarce in those regions, great seems to have been
the dexterity exercised in preparing as many things as
possible with as little fire. An admirable contrivance
of this nature may be still seen in the Neapolitan Mu-
seum, viz., a portable kitchen, about the size of a folio
volume, containing stoves for four dishes, and an appa-
ratus for heating water or other beverages.
Across the small kitchen flitted many forms which
the quick eye of the master did not recognise.
" Oh ! oh ! " grumbled he to himself, " That cursed
Congrio hath invited a whole legion of cooks to assist
him. They won't serve for nothing, and this is another
item in the total of my day's expenses. By Bacchus !
thrice lucky shall I be if the slaves do not help them-
selves to some of the drinking vessels ; ready, alas, are
their hands, capacious are their tunics. Me miserum! ''
The cooks, however, worked on, seemingly heedless
of the apparition of Diomed.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 313
" Ho, Eiiclio, your egg-pan ! What, is this the larg-
est? it only holds thirty-three eggs: in the houses /
usually serve, the smallest egg-pan holds fifty, if need
be!"
" The unconscionable rogue ! " thought Diomed ;
" he talks of eggs as if they were a sesterce a hun-
dred ! "
" By Mercury ! " cried a pert little culinary disciple,
scarce in his novitiate ; " whoever saw such antique
sweetmeat shapes as these? — it is impossible to do
credit to one's art with such rude materials. Why, Sal-
lust's commonest sweetmeat shape represents the whole
siege of Troy: Hector and Paris, and Helen with
little Astyanax and the Wooden Horse into the bar-
gam!
" Silence, fool ! '' said Congrio, the cook of the house,
who seemed to leave the chief part of the battle to his
allies. " My master, Diomed, is not one of those ex-
pensive good-for-noughts, who must have the last fash-
ion, cost what it will ! "
" Thou liest, base slave ! " cried Diomed, in a great
passion — " and thou costest me already enough to have
ruined Lucullus himself ! Come out of thy den, I want
to talk to thee."
The slave, with a sly wink at his confederates, obeyed
the command.
" Man of three letters," ^ said Diomed, with his face
of solemn anger, " how didst thou dare to invite all
those rascals into my house? — I see thief written in
every line of their faces." ,
" Yet, I assure you, master, that they are men of
most respectable character — the best cooks of the place ;
it is a great favour to get them. But for my sake "
1 The common witty objurgation, from the triliteral word
"fur" (thief).
314 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Thy sake, unhappy Congrio ! " interrupted Dio-
med ; " and by what purloined moneys of mine, by what
reserved filchings from marketing, by what goodly
meats converted into grease, and sold in the suburbs,
by what false charges for bronzes marred, and earthen-
ware broken — ^hast thou been enabled to make them
serve thee for thy sake ? "
" Nay, master, do not impeach my honesty ! May
the gods desert me if "
" Swear not ! '' again interrupted the choleric Dio-
med, " for then the gods will smite thee for a perjurer,
and I shall lose my cook on the eve of dinner. But,
enough of this at present : keep a sharp eye on thy ill-
favoured assistants, and tell me no tales to-morrow of
vases broken, and cups miraculously vanished, or thy
whole back shall be one pain. And hark thee! thou
knowest thou hast made me pay for those Phrygian
attagens ^ enough, by Hercules, to have feasted a sober
man for a year together — see that they be not one iota
over-roasted. The last time, O Congrio, that I gave a
banquet to my friends, when thy vanity did so boldly
undertake the becoming appearance of a Melian crane
— thou knowest it came up like a stone from Etna —
as if all the fires of Phlegethon had been scorching out
its juices. Be modest this time, Congrio — wary and
modest. Modesty is the nurse of great actions ; and in
all other things, as in this, if thou wilt not spare thy
master's purse, at least consult thy master's glory."
" There shall not be such a coena seen at Pompeii
since the days of Hercules."
" Softly, softly — ^thy cursed boasting again ! but I
1 The attagen of Phrygia or Ionia j(the bird thus anglicised
in the plural) was held in peculiar esteem by the Romans.
"Attagen carnis suavissimae." (Athen., lib. ix. cap. 8, 9.)
It was a little bigger than a partridge.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 315
say, Congrio, yon homunculus — yon pigmy assailant of
my cranes — ^yon pert-tongued neophyte of the kitchen,
was there aught but insolence on his tongue when he
maligned the comeliness of my sweetmeat shapes? I
would not be out of the fashion, Congrio."
" It is but the custom of us cooks," replied Congrio,
gravely, " to undervalue our tools, in order to increase
the effect of our art. The sweetmeat shape is a fair
shape, and a lovely ; but I would recommend my mas-
ter at the first occasion, to purchase some new ones of
if
" That will suffice," exclaimed Diomed, who seemed
resolved never to allow his slave to finish his sentences.
" Now, resume thy charge — shine — eclipse thyself.
Let men envy Diomed his cook — let the slaves of Pom-
peii style thee Congrio the great ! Gq ! yet stay — thou
hast not spent all the moneys I gave thee for the mark-
eting?"
*'' All!' — alas! the nightingales' tongues and the
Roman tomacula,^ and the oysters from Britain, and
sundry other things too numerous now to recite, are
yet left unpaid for. But what matter ? everyone trusts
the Archimagirus ^ of Diomed the wealthy ! "
" Oh, unconscionable prodigal ! — ^what waste ! — what
profusion! — I am ruined! But' go, hasten — inspect!
— taste ! — perform ! — surpass thyself ! Let the Roman
senator not despise the poor Pompeian. Away, slave —
and remember, the Phrygian attagens"
The chief disappeared within his natural domain, and
Diomed rolled back his portly presence to the more
courtly chambers. All was to his liking — the flowers
«
-candiduli divina tomacula porci." — Juvenal, x. i. 355.
A rich and delicate species of sausage.
* Archimagirus was the lofty title of the chief cook.
3i6 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
were fresh, the fountains played briskly, the mosaic
pavements were smooth as mirrors.
" Where is my daughter Julia ? " he asked.
" At the bath."
" Ah ! that reminds me ! — ^time wanes ! — ^and I must
bathe also."
Our story returns to Apaecides. On awakening that
day from the broken and feverish sleep which had fol-
lowed his adoption of a faith so strikingly and sternly
at variance with that in which his youth had been
nurtured, the young priest could scarcely imagine that
he was not yet in a dream; he had crossed the fatal
river — the past was henceforth to have no sympathy
with the future ; the two worlds were distinct and sepa-
rate,— that which had been, from that which was to
be. To what a bold and adventurous enterprise he had
pledged his life ! — to unveil the mysteries in which he
had participated — to desecrate the altars he had served
— to denounce the goddess whose ministering robe; he
wore ! Slowly he became sensible of the hatred and the
horror he should provoke amongst the pious, even if
successful; if frustrated in his daring attempt, what
penalties might he not incur for an offence hitherto
unheard of — for which no specific law, derived frpm
experience, was prepared ; and which, for that very rea-
son, precedents, dragged from the sharpest armoury
of obsolete and inapplicable legislation, would prob-
ably be distorted to meet ! His friends, — ^the sister of
his youth, — could he expect justice, though he might
receive compassion, from them ? This brave and heroic
act would by their heathen eyes be regarded, perhaps,
as a heinous apostasy — at the best as a pitiable madness.
He dared, he renounced, everything in this world, in
the hope of securing that eternity in the next, which
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 317
had so suddenly been revealed to him. While these
thoughts on the one hand invaded his breast, on the
other hand his pride, his courage, and his virtue
mingled with reminiscences of revenge for deceit, of
indignant disgust at fraud, conspired to raise and to
support him.
The conflict was sharp and keen ; but his new feel-
ings triumphed over his old : and a mighty argument
in favour of wrestling with the sanctities of old opin-
ions and hereditary forms might be found in the con-
quest over both, achieved by that humble priest. Had
the early Christians been more controlled by " the sol-
emn plausibilities of custom " — less of democrats in
the pure and lofty acceptation of that perverted word,
— Christianity would have perished in its cradle!
As each priest in succession slept several nights to-
gether in the chambers of the temple, the term imposed
on Apaecides was not yet completed ; and when he had
risen from his couch, attired himself, as usual, in his
robes, and left his narrow chamber he found himself
before the altars of the temple.
In the exhaustion of his late emotions he had slept
far into the morning, and the vertical sun already
poured its fervid beams over the sacred place.
" Salve, Apaecides ! " said a voice, whose natural
asperity was smoothed by long artifice into an almost
displeasing softness of tone. " Thou art late abroad ;
has the goddess revealed herself to thee in visions ? "
" Could she reveal her true self to the people, Ca-
lenus, how incenseless would be these altars ! "
" That," replied Calenus, " may possibly be true ; but
the deity is wise enough to hold commune with none
but priests."
" A time may come when she will be unveiled with-
out her own acquiescence." v
3i8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" It is not likely : she has triumphed for countless
ages. And that which has so long stood the test of time
rarely succumbs to the lust of novelty. But hark ye,
young brother ! these sayings are indiscreet."
" It is not for thee to silence them," replied Apaecides
haughtily.
" So hot — ^yet I will not quarrel with thee. Why,
my Apaecides, has not the Egyptian convinced thee of
the necessity of our dwelling together in unity ? Has
he not convinced thee of the wisdom of deluding the
people and enjoying ourselves ? If not, oh, brother ! he
is not that great magician he is esteemed."
" Thou, then, hast shared his lessons ? " said Apae-
cides, with a hollow smile.
" Ay ! but I stood less in need of them than thou.
Nature had already gifted me with the love of pleas-
ure, and the desire of gain and power. Long is the way
that leads the voluptuary to the severities of life ; but
it is only one step from pleasant sin to sheltering
hypocrisy. Beware the vengeance of the goddess, if
the shortness of that step be disclosed ! "
" Beware, thou, the hour when the tomb shall be rent
and the rottenness exposed," returned Apaecides, sol-
emnly. ''Vale!''
With these words he left the flamen to his medita-
tions. When he got a few paces from the temple, he
turned to look back. Calenus had already disappeared
in the entry room of the priests, for it now approached
the hour of that repast which, called prandium by the
ancients, answers in point of date to the breakfast of
the modems. The white and graceful fane gleamed
brightly in the sun. Upon the altars before it rose the
incense and bloomed the garlands. The priest gazed
long and wistfully upon the scene — it was the last time
that it was ever beheld by him !
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 319
He then turned and pursued his way slowly towards
the house of lone'; for before possibly the last tie that
united them was cut in twain — before the uncertain
peril of the next day was incurred, he was anxious to
see his last surviving relative, his fondest as his earliest
friend.
He arrived at her house, and found her in the gar-
den with Nydia.
" This is kind, Apaecides,'' said lone, joyfully ; " and
how eagerly have I wished to see thee ! — what thanks
do I not owe thee? How churlish hast thou been to
answer none of my letters — to abstain from coming
hither to receive the expressions of my gratitude ! Oh !
thou hast assisted to preserve thy sister from dis-
honour! What, what can she say to thank thee, now
thou art come at last ? "
" My sweet lone, thou owest me no gratitude, for
thy cause was mine. Let us avoid that subject, let us
not recur to that impious man — how hateful to both of
us! I may have a speedy opportunity to teach the
world the nature of his pretended wisdom and hypo-
critical severity. But let us sit down, my sister ; I am
wearied with the heat of the sun ; let us sit in yonder
shade, and, for a little while longer, be to each other
what we have been."
Beneath a wide plane-tree, with the cistus and the
arbutus clustering round them, the living fountain be-
fore, the greensward beneath their feet ; the gay cicada,
once so dear to Athens, rising merrily ever and anon
amidst the grass: the butterfly, beautiful emblem of
the soul, dedicated to Psyche, and which has contin-
ued to furnish illustrations to the Christian bard, rich
in the glowing colours caught from Sicilian skies,^
1 In Sicily are found, perhaps, the most beautiful varieties
of the butterfly.
320 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
hovering above the sunny flowers, itself like a winged
flower — ^in this spot, and this scene, the brother and
the sister sat together for the last time on earth. You
may tread now on the same place; but the garden is
no more, the columns are shattered, the fountain hath
ceased to play. Let the traveller search amongst the
ruins of Pompeii for the house of lone. Its remains
are yet visible ; but I will not betray them to the gaze
of commonplace tourists. He who is more sensitive
than the herd will discover them easily : when he has
done so, let him keep the secret.
They sat down, and Nydia, glad to be alone, retired
to the farther end of the garden.
" lone, my sister," said the young convert, " place
your hand upon my brow ; let me feel your cool touch.
Speak to me, too, for your gentle voice is like a breeze
that hath freshness as well as music. Speak to me, but
forbear to bless me! Utter not one word of those
^ forms of speech which our childhood was taught to
consider sacred ! "
" Alas ! and what then shall I say ? Our language
of affection is so woven with that of worship, that the
words grow chilled and trite if I banish from them al-
lusion to our gods."
" Our gods!'' murmured Apaecides with a shudder:
" thou slightest my request already."
"Shall I speak then to thee only of Isis? "
" The Evil Spirit ! No, rather be dumb for ever,
unless at least thou canst — ^but away, away this talk I
Not now will we dispute and cavil; not now will we
judge harshly of each other. Thou, regarding me as
an apostate ! and I all sorrow and shame for thee as
an idolater. No, my sister, let us avoid such topics
and such thoughts. In thy sweet presence a calm falls
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 321
over my spirit. For a little while I forget. As I thus
lay my temples on thy bosom, as I thus feel thy gentle
arm embrace me, I think that we are children once
more, and that the heaven smiles equally upon both.
For oh I if hereafter I escape, no matter what peril ; and
it be permitted me to address thee on one sacred and
awful subject; should I find thine ear closed and thy
heart hardened, what hope for myself could counter-
vail the despair for thee ? In thee, my sister, I behold
a likeness made beautiful, made noble of myself. Shall
the mirror live for ever, and the form itself be broken
as the potter's clay? Ah, no — ^no — ^thou wilt listen to
me yet! Dost thou remember how we went into the
fields by Baiae, hand in hand together, to pluck the flow-
ers of spring? Even so, hand in hand, shall we enter
the Eternal Garden, and crown ourselves with imper-
ishable asphodel ! "
Wondering and bewildered by words she could not
comprehend, but excited even to tears by the plaintive-
ness of their tone, lone listened to these outpourings
of a full and oppressed heart. In truth, Apaecides him-
self was softened much beyond his ordinary mood,
which to outward seeming was usually either sullen or
impetuous. For the noblest desires are of a jealous
nature — they engross, they absorb the soul, and often
leave the splenetic humours stagnant and unheeded at
the surface. Unheeding the petty things around us,
we are deemed morose ; impatient at earthly interrup-
tion to the diviner dreams, we are thought irritable and
churlish. For as there is no chimera vainer than the
hope that one human heart shall find sympathy in an-
other, so none ever interpret us with justice ; and none,
no, not our nearest and our dearest ties, forbear with
us in mercy ! When we are dead and repentance comes
ax
323 , THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
too late, both friend and foe may wonder to think how
little there was in us to forgive !
" I will talk to thee then of our early years," said
lone. " Shall yon blind girl sing to thee of the days of
childhood? Her voice is sweet and musical, and she
hath a song on that theme which contains none of those
allusions it pains thee to hear."
" Dost thou remember the words, my sister? " asked
Apgecides.
" Methinks yes ; for the tune, which is simple, fixed
them on my memory."
" Sing to me then thyself. My ear is not in unison
with unfamiliar voices ; and thine, lone, full of house-
hold associations, has ever been to me more sweet than
all the hireling melodies of Lycia or of Crete. Sing to
me!"
lone beckoned to a slave that stood in the portico,
and sending for her lute, sang, when it arrived, to a
tender and simple air, the following verses : —
REGRET FOR CHILDHOOD
I.
" It is not that our earlier Heaven
Escapes its April showers,
Or that to childhood's heart is given
No snake amidst the flowers.
Ah I twined with grief
Each brightest leaf,
That's wreath'd us by the Hours I
Young though we be, the Past may sting,
The Present feed its sorrow;
But hope shines bright on everything
That waits us with the morrow.
Like sun-lit glades,
The dimmest shades
Some rosy beam can borrow.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 323
n.
" It is not that our later years
Of cares are woven wholly,
But smiles less swiftly chase the tears,
And wounds are healed more slowly.
And Memory's vow
To lost ones now.
Makes joys too bright, unholy.
And ever fled the Iris bow
That smiled when clouds were o'er us,
If storms should burst, uncheered we go,
A drearier waste before us; —
And with the toys
Of childish joys.
We've broke the staff that bore us I "
Wisely and delicately had lone chosen that song,
sad though its burthen seemed ; for when we are deeply
mournful, discordant above all others is the voice of
mirth: the fittest spell is that borrowed from melan-
choly itself, for dark thoughts can be softened down
when they cannot be brightened ; and so they lose the
precise and rigid outline of their truth, and their col-
ours melt into the ideal. As the leech applies in
remedy to the internal sore some outward irritation,
which, by a gentler wound, draws away the venom of
that which is more deadly, thus, in the rankling festers
of the mind, our art is to divert to a milder sadness on
the surface the pain that gnaweth at the core. And so
with Apaecides, yielding to the influence of the silver
voice that reminded him of the past, and told but of
half the sorrow bom to the present, he forgot his more
immediate and fiery sources of anxious thought. He
spent hours in making lone alternately sing to, and
converse with, him ; and when he rose to leave her, it
was with a calmed and lulled mind.
" lone," said he, as he pressed her hand, " should
324. THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
you hear my name blackened and maligned, will you
credit the aspersion ? "
" Never, my brother, never ! "
" Dost thou not imagine, according to thy belief, that
the evildoer is punished hereafter, and the good re-
warded ? "
Can you doubt it ? "
Dost thou think, then, that he who is truly good
should sacrifice every selfish interest in his zeal for vir-
tue?"
" He who doth so is the equal of the gods."
" And thou believest that, according to the purity
and courage with which he thus acts, shall be his por-
tion of bliss beyond the grave ? "
" So we are taught to hope."
" Kiss me, my sister. One question more. — ^Thou
art to be wedded to Glaucus ; perchance that marriage
may separate us more hopelessly — but not of this speak
I now ; — ^thou art to be married to Glaucus — dost thou
love him ? Nay, my sister, answer me by words."
". Yes ! " murmured lone, blushing.
" Dost thou feel that, for his sake, thou couldst re-
nounce pride, brave dishonour, and incur death? I
have heard that when women really love it is to that
excess."
" My brother, all this could I do for Glaucus, and
feel that it were not a sacrifice. There is no sacrifice to
those who love, in what is borne for the one we love."
" Enough ! shall woman feel thus for man, and man
feel less devotion to his God ? "
He spoke no more. His whole countenance seemed
instinct and inspired with a divine life: his chest
swelled proudly ; his eyes glowed : on his forehead was
writ the majesty of a man who can dare be noble ! He
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 325
turned to meet the eyes of lone — earnest, wistful, fear-
ful ; — ^he kissed her fondly, strained her warmly to his
breast, and in a moment more he had left the house.
Long did lone remain in the same place, mute and
thoughtful. The maidens again and again came to
warn her of the deepening noon, and her engagement
to Diomed's banquet. At length she woke from her
reverie, and prepared not with the pride of beauty, but
listless and melancholy, for the festival: one thought
alone reconciled her to the promised visit — she should
meet Glaucus — she could confide to him her alarm and
uneasiness for her brother.
CHAPTER III
A FASHIONABLE PARTY AND A DINNER A LA MODE IN
POMPEIL
Meanwhile Sallust and Glaucus were slowly stroll-
ing towards the house of Diomed. Despite the habits
of his life, Sallust was not devoid of many estimable
qualities. He would have been an active friend, a use-
ful citizen — in short an excellent man, if he had not
taken it into his head to be a philosopher. Brought up
in the schools in which Roman plagiarism worshipped
the echo of Grecian wisdom, he had imbued himself
with those doctrines by which the later Epicureans cor-
rupted the simple maxims of their great master. He
gave himself altogether up to pleasure, and imagined
there was no sage like a boon companion. Still, how-
ever, he had a considerable degree of learning, wit, and
good nature ; and the hearty frankness of his very vices
seemed like virtue itself beside the utter corruption of
326 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
I
Clodius and the prostrate effeminacy of Lepidus ; and
therefore Glaucus liked him the best of his compan-
ions ; and he, in turn, appreciating the nobler qualities
of the Athenian, loved him almost as much as a cold
muraena, or a bowl of the best Falernian.
" This is a vulgar old fellow this Diomed," said Sal-
lust ; " but he has some good qualities — in his cellar I *'
" And some charming ones— in his daughter."
" True, Glaucus ; but you are not much moved by
them, methinks. I fancy Clodius is desirous to be your
successor."
«
He is welcome. At the banquet of Julia's beauty*
no guest, be sure, is considered a musca." ^
" You are severe : but she has, indeed, something of
the Corinthian about her — ^they will be well matched
after all I What good-natured fellows we are to asso-
ciate with that gambling good-for-nought."
" Pleasure unites strange varieties," answered Glau-
cus. " He amuses me "
" And flatters ; — ^but then he pays himself well I He
powders his praise with gold-dust."
" You often hint that he plays unfairly — ^think you
so really ? "
" My dear Glaucus, a Roman noble has his dignity
to keep up— dignity is very expensive — Clodius must
cheat like a scoundrel in order to live like a gentle-
man."
«
Ha, ha! — well, of late I have renounced the dice.
Ah ! Sallust, when I am wedded to lone, I trust I may
yet redeein a youth of follies, ^e are both born for
better things than those in which we sympathise now —
born to render our worship in nobler temples than the
sty of Epicurus."
^ Unwelcome and uninvited guests were called muscae, or
flies.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 32;
" Alas I " returned Sallust, in rather a mekncholy
tone, " what do we know more than this — life is short
— beyond the grave all is dark ? there is no wisdom like
that which says * enjoy/ "
" By Bacchus I I doubt sometimes if we do enjoy
the utmost of which life is capable."
" I am a moderate man," returned Sallust, " and do
not ask ' the utmost/ We are like malefactors, and in-
toxicate ourselves with wine and myrrh, as we stand
on the brink of death ; but, if we did not do so, the abyss
would look very disagreeable. I own that I was in-
clined to be gloomy until I took so heartily to drinking
— that is a new life, my Glaucus."
" Yes ! but it brings us next morning to a new death."
" Why, the next morning is unpleasant, I own ; but,
then, if it were not so, one would never be inclined to
read. I study betimes — ^because, by the gods! I am
generally unfit for anything else till noon."
" Fie, Scythian ! "
" Pshaw ! the fate of Pentheus to him who denies
Bacchus."
" Well, Sallust, with all your faults, you are the best
profligate I ever met : and verily, if I were in danger of
life, you are the only man in all Italy who would
stretch out a finger to save me."
" Perhaps / should not, if it were in the middle of
supper. But, in truth, we Italians are fearfully self-
ish."
" So are all men who are not free," said Glaucus,
with a sigh. " Freedom alone makes men sacrifice to
each other."
" Freedom, then, must be a very fatiguing thing to
an Epicurean," answered Sallust. " But here we are
at our host's,"
328 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
As Diomed's villa is one of the most considerable in
point of size of any yet discovered at Pompeii, and is,
moreover, built much according to the specific instruc-
tions for a suburban villa laid down by the .Roman
architect, it may not be uninteresting briefly to de-
scribe the plan of the apartments through which our
visitors passed.
They entered, then, by the same small vestibule at
which we have before been presented to the aged
Medon, and passed at once into a colonnade, technically
termed the peristyle; for the main difference between
the suburban villa and the town mansion consisted in
placing, in the first the said colonnade in exactly the
same place as that which in the town mansion was oc-
cupied by the atrium. In the centre of the peristyle
was an open court, which contained the impluvium.
From this peristyle descended a staircase to the of-
fices ; another narrow passage on the opposite side com-
municated with a garden; various small apartments
surrounded the colonnade, appropriated probably to
country visitors. Another door to the left on emering
communicated with a small triangular portico, which
belonged to the baths ; and behind was the wardrobe, in
which were kept the vests of the holiday suits of the
slaves, and, perhaps, of the master. Seventeen cen-
turies afterwards were found those relics of ancient
finery calcined and crumbling; kept longer, alas, than
their thrifty lord foresaw.
Return we to the peristyle, and endeavour now to
present to the reader a coup d'ceil of the whole suite of
apartments, which immediately stretched before the
steps of the visitors.
Let him then first imagine the columns of the por-
tico, hung with festoons of flowers ; the columns them-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 329
selves in the lower part painted red, and the walls
around glowing with various frescoes; then looking
beyond a curtain, three parts drawn aside, the eye
caught the tablinum or saloon (which was closed at
will by glazed doors, now slid back into the walls). On
either side of this tablinum were small rooms, one of
which was a kind of cabinet of gems ; and these apart-
ments, as well as the tablinum, communicated with a
long gallery, which opened at either end upon terraces ;
and between the terraces, and communicating with the
central part of the gallery, was a hall in which the ban-
quet was that day prepared. All these apartments,
though almost on a level with the street, were one story
above the garden; and the terraces communicating
with the gallery were continued into corridors, raised
above the pillars which, to the right and left, skirted
the garden below.
Beneath, and on a level with the garden, ran the
apartments we have already described as chiefly appro-
priated to Julia.
In the gallery, then, just mentioned, Diomed received
his guests.
The merchant affected greatly the man of letters, and
therefore he also affected a passion for everything
Greek ; he paid particular attention to Glaucus.
** You will see, my friend," said he, with a wave of
his hand, " that I am a little classical here — a little
Cecropian — eh ? The hall in which we shall sup is bor-
rowed from the Greeks. It is an CEcus Cyzicene.
Noble Sallust, they have not, I am told, this sort of
apartment in Rome."
" Oh ! " replied Sallust, with a half smile ; " you
Pompeians combine all that is most eligible in Greece
and in Rome ; may you, Diomed, combine the viands as
well as the architecture ! "
330 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" You shall see — ^you shall see, my Sallust," replied
the merchant. " We have a taste at Pompeii, and we
have also money."
" They are two excellent things," replied Sallust.
" But, behold, the lady Julia ! "
The main difference, as I have before remarked, in
the manner of life observed among the Athenians and
Romans, was, that with the first, the modest women
rarely or never took part in entertainments; with the
latter they were the common ornaments of the ban-
quet ; but when they were present at the feast, it usually
terminated at an early hour.
Magnificently robed in white, interwoven with pearls
and threads of gold, the handsome Julia entered the
apartment.
Scarcely had she received the salutation of the two
guests, ere Pansa and his wife, Lepidus, Clodius, and
the Roman senator, entered almost simultaneously;
then came the widow Fulvia; then the poet Fulvius,
like to the widow in name if in nothing else ; the war-
rior from Herculaneum, accompanied by his umbra,
next stalked in; afterwards, the less eminent of the
guests. lone yet tarried.
It was the mode among the courteous ancients to
flatter whenever it was in their power : accordingly it
was a sign of ill-breeding to seat themselves imme-
diately on entering the house of their host. After per-
forming the salutation, which was usually accom-
plished by the same cordial shake of the right hand
which we ourselves retain, and sometimes by the yet
more familiar embrace, they spent several minutes in
surveying the apartment, and admiring the bronzes,
the pictures, or the furniture, with which it was
adorned — a mode very impolite according to our re-
— I
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 33^
fined English notions, which place good breeding in in-
difference. We would not for the world express much
admiration of another man's house, for fear it should
be thought we had never seen anything so fine before I
" A beautiful statue this of Bacchus ! " said the Ro-
man senator.
A mere trifle 1 " replied Diomed.
What charming paintings'! " said Fulvia.
«
«
" Mere trifles 1 " answered the owner.
" Exquisite candelabra ! " cried the warrior.
" Exquisite ! " echoed his umbra.
" Trifles ! trifles ! " reiterated the merchant.
Meanwhile, Glaucus found himself by one of the
windows of the gallery, which communicated with the
terraces, and the fair Julia by his side.
" Is it an Athenian virtue, Glaucus," said the mer-
chant's daughter, " to shun those whom we once
sought ? "
" Fair Julia— no ! "
" Yet methinks it is one of the qualities of Glaucus."
" Glaucus never shuns a friend! " replied the Greek,
with some emphasis on the last word.
** May Julia rank among the number of his friends? "
" It would be an honour to the emperor to find a
friend in one so lovely."
" You evade my question," returned the enamoured
Julia. " But tell me, is it true that you admire the Nea-
politan lone ? "
" Does not beauty constrain our admiration ? "
" Ah 1 subtle Greek, still do you fly the meaning of
my words. But say, shall Julia be indeed your
friend?"
" If she will so favour me, blessed be the gods 1 The
day in which I am thus honoured shall be ever marked
in white."
332 "THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Yet, even while you speak, your eye is restless —
your colour comes and goes — you move away invol-
untarily— ^you are impatient to join lone ! "
•For at that moment lone had entered, and Glaucus
had indeed betrayed the emotion noticed by the jealous
beauty.
" Can admiration to one woman make me unworthy
the friendship of another? Sanction not so, O Julia,
the libels of the poets on your sex ! "
" Well, you are right — or I will learn to think so.
Glaucus, yet one moment ! You are to wed lone ; is it
not so ? "
" If the Fates permit, such is my blessed hope."
" Accept, then, from me, in token of our new friend-
ship, a present for your bride. Nay, it is the custom of
friends, you know, always to present to bride and bride-
groom some such little marks of their esteem and fa-
vouring wishes.''
" Julia ! I cannot refuse any token of friendship from
one like you. I will accept the gift as an omen from
Fortune herself."
" Then, after the feast, when the guests retire, you
will descend with me to my apartment, and receive it
from my hands. Remember ! " said Julia, as she joined
the wife of Pansa, and left Glaucus to seek lone.
The widow Fulvia and the spouse of the aedile were
engaged in high and grave discussion.
" O Fulvia ! I assure you that the last account from
Rome declares that the frizzling mode of dressing the
hair is growing antiquated ; they only now wear it built
up in a tower, like Julia's, or arranged as a helmet —
the Galerian fashion, like mine, you see: it has a fine
effect, I think. I assure you Vespius (Vespius was the
name of the Herculaneum hero) admires it greatly."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 333
" And nobody wears the hair like yon Neapolitan, in
the Greek way."
" What, parted in front, with the knot behind ? Oh j
no ; how ridiculous it is ! it reminds one of the statue of
Diana ! Yet this lone is handsome, eh ? "
'" So the men say ; but then she is rich : she is to marry
the Athenian — I wish her joy. He will not be long
faithful, I suspect ; those foreigners are very faithless."
" Oh, Julia ! " said Fulvia, as the merchant's daugh-
ter joined them ; " have you seen the tiger yet? "
" No ! "
" Why, all the ladies have been to see him. He is so
handsome ! "
" I hope we shall find some criminal or other for him
and the lion," replied Julia. " Your husband (turning
to Pansa's wife) is not so active as he should be in this
matter."
" Why, really, the laws are too mild," replied the
dame of the helmet. " There are so few offences to
which the punishment of the arena can be awarded;
and then, too, the gladiators are growing effeminate?
The stoutest bestiarii declare they are willing enough
to fight a boar or a bull ; but as for a lion or a tiger, they
think the game too much in earnest."
" They are worthy of a mitre," ^ replied Julia, in dis-
dain.
" Oh ! have you seen the new house of Fulvius, the
dear poet ? " said Pansa's wife.
No : is it handsome ? "
Very! — such good taste. But they say, my dear,
that he has such improper pictures 1 He won't show
them to the women : how ill-bred ! "
^ Mitres were worn sometimes by men, and considered a
great mark of effeminacy.
334 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
«
ii
Those poets are always odd," said the widow.
But he is an interesting man ; what pretty verses he
writes! We improve very much in poetry: it is im-
possible to read the old stuff now."
" I declare I am of your opinion," returned the lady
of the helmet. " There is so much more force and
energy in the modem school."
The warrior sauntered up to the ladies.
" It reconciles me to peace," said he, " when I see
such faces."
" Oh ! you heroes are ever flatterers," returned Ful-
via, hastening to appropriate the compliment specially
to herself.
" By this chain, which I received from the em-
peror's own hand," replied the warrior, playing with a
short chain which hung round the neck like a collar,
instead of descending to the breast, according to the
fashion of the peaceful — "by this chain, you wrong
me I I am a blunt man — a soldier should be so."
" How do you find the ladies of Pompeii generally ? "
said Julia.
" By Venus, most beautiful I They favour me a lit-
tle, it is true, and that inclines my eyes to double their
charms."
" We love a warrior," said the wife of Pansa.
" I see it : by Hercules 1 it is even disagreeable to be
too celebrated in these cities. At Herculaneum they
climb the roof of my atrium to catch a glimpse of me
through the compluvium ; the admiration of one's citi-
zens is pleasant at first, but burthensome afterwards."
" True, true, O Vespius ! " cried the poet, joining the
group : " I find it so myself."
" You ! " said the stately warrior, scanning the small
form of the poet with ineffable disdain. " In what
legion have you served ?
»
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 335
" You may see my spoils, my exuviae, in the forum
itself," returned the poet, with a significant glance at
the women. " I have been among the tent-companions,
the contubernales, of the great Mantuan himself."
" I know no general from Mantua," said the war-
rior, gravely. " What campaign have you served ? "
" That of Helicon."
*' I never heard of it."
" Nay, Vespius, he does but joke," said Julia, laugh-
ing.
" Joke I By Mars, am I a man to be joked? "
" Yes ; Mars himself was in love with the mother of
jokes," said the poet, a little alarmed. " Know, then,
O Vespius! that I am the poet Fulvius. It is I who
make warriors immortal I "
** The gods forbid I " whispered Sallust to Julia. " If
Vespius were made immortal, what a specimen of tire-
some braggadocio would be transmitted to posterity ! "
The soldier looked puzzled ; when, to the infinite re-
lief of himself and his companions, the signal for the
feast was given.
As we already witnessed at the house of Glaucus the
ordinary routine of a Pompeian entertainment, the
reader is spared any second detail of the courses, and
the manner in which they were introduced.
Diomed, who was rather ceremonious, had appointed
a nomenclator, or appointer of places, to each guest.
The reader understands that the festive board was
composed of three tables ; one at the centre, and one at
each wing. It was only at the outer side of these tables
that the guests reclined; the inner space was left un-
tenanted, for the greater convenience of the waiters
or ministri. The extreme comer of one of the wings
was appropriated to Julia as the lady of the feast ; that
336 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
next her, to Diomed. At one corner of the centre table
was placed the aedile ; at the opposite comer, the Ro-
man senator — these were the posts of honour. The
other guests were arranged so that the young (gentle-
man or lady) should sit next each other, and the more
advanced in years be similarly matched. An agreeable
provision enough, but one which must often have of-
fended those who wished to be thought still young.
The chair of lone was next to the couch of Glaucus.^
The seats were veneered with tortoise-shell, and cov-
ered with quilts stuffed with feathers, and ornamented
with costly embroideries. The modern ornaments of
epergne or plateau were supplied by images of the
gods, wrought in bronze, ivory, and silver. The sacred
salt-cellar and the familiar Lares were not forgotten.
Over the table and the seats a rich canopy was sus-
pended from the ceiling. At each corner of the table
were lofty candelabra — for though it was early noon,
the room was darkened — while from tripods, placed in
different parts of the room, distilled the odour of
myrrh and frankincense ; and upon the abacus, or side-
board, large vases and various ornaments of silver were
ranged, much with the same ostentation (but with
more than the same taste) that we find displayed at a
modem feast.
The custom of grace was invariably supplied by that
of libations to the gods; and Vesta, as queen of the
household gods, usually received first that graceful
homage.
This ceremony being performed, the slaves show-
ered flowers upon the couches and the floor, and
1 In formal parties the women sat in chairs, — the men re-
clined. It was only in the bosom of families that the same
ease was granted to both sexes — the reason is obvious.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 337
crowned each guest with rosy garlands, intricately
woven with ribands, tied by the rind of the linden-tree,
and each intermingled with the ivy and the amethyst
— supposed preventives against the effect of wine ; the
wreaths of the women only were exempted from these
leaves, for it was not the fashion for them to drink
wine in public. It was then that the president Diomed
thought it advisable to institute a basileus, or director
of the feast — ^an important office, sometimes chosen by
lot; sometimes, as now, by the master of the enter-
tainment.
Diomed was not a little puzzled as to his election.
The invalid senator was too grave and too infirm for
the proper fulfilment of his duty ; the aedile Pansa was
adequate enough to the task; but then, to choose the
next in official rank to the senator, was an affront to
the senator himself. While deliberating between the
merits of the others, he caught the mirthful glance of
Sallust, and, by a sudden inspiration, named the jovial
epicure to the rank of director, or arbiter bibendi,
Sallust received the appointment with becoming hu-
mility.
" I shall be a merciful king," said he, " to those who
drink deep ; to a recusant, Minos himself shall be less
inexorable. Beware I "
The slaves handed round basins of perfumed water,
by which lavation the feast commenced : and now the
table groaned under the initiatory course.
The conversation, at first desultory and scattered, al-
lowed lone and Glaucus to carry on those sweet whis-
pers, which are worth all the eloquence in the world.
Julia watched them with flashing eyes.
" How soon shall her place be mine ? " thought she.
But Clodius, who sat at the centre table, so as to ob-
2a
338 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
serve well the countenance of Julia, guessed her pique,
^nd resolved to profit by it. He addressed her across
the table in set phrases of gallantry; and as he was
of high birth and of a showy person, the vain Julia was
not so much in love as to be insensible to his attentions.
The slaves, in the interim, were constantly kept
upon the alert by the vigilant Sallust, who chased one
cup by another with a celerity which seemed as if he
were resolved upon exhausting those capacious cellars
which the reader may yet see beneath the house of Dio-
med. The worthy merchant began to repent his choice,
as amphora after amphora was pierced and emptied.
The slaves, all under the age of manhood (the youngest
being about ten years old, — it was they who filled the
wine, — ^the eldest, some five years older, mingled it with
water), seemed to share in the zeal of Sallust; and the
face of Diomed began to glow as he watched the pro-
voking complacency with which they seconded the ex-
ertions of the king of the feast.
" Pardon me, O senator 1 " said Sallust, " I see you
flinch ; your purple hem cannot save you — drink 1 "
" By the gods," said the senator, coughing, " my
lungs are already on fire ; you proceed with so miracu-
lous a swiftness, that Phaeton himself was nothing to
you. i am infirm, O pleasant Sallust; you must ex-
onerate me."
" Not I, by Vesta ! I am an impartial monarch —
drink I "
The poor senator, compelled by the laws of the table,
was forced to comply. Alas ! every cup was bringing
him nearer and nearer to the Stygian pool.
" Gently ; gently ! my king," groaned Diomed ; " we
already begin to "
" Treason ! " interrupted Sallust ; " no stem Brutus
here 1 — ^no interference with royalty ! " •
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 339
" But our female guests "
" Love a toper I Did not Ariadne dote upon Bac-
chus?"
The feast proceeded ; the guests grew more talkative
and noisy ; the dessert or last course was already on the
table ; and the slaves bore round water with myrrh and
hyssop for the finishing lavation. At the same time,
a small circular table that had been placed in the space
opposite the guests suddenly, and as by magic, seemed
to open in the centre, and cast up a fragrant shower,
sprinkling the table and the guests ; while as it ceased
the awning above them was drawn aside, and the
guests perceived that a rope had been stretched across
the ceiling, and that one of those nimble dancers for
which Pompeii was so. celebrated, and whose descend-
ants add so charming a grace to the festivities of Ast-
ley's or Vauxhall, was now treading his airy measures
right over their heads.
This apparition, removed but by a cord from one's
pericranium, and indulging the most vehement leaps,
apparently with the intention of alighting upon tHat
cerebral region, would probably be regarded with some
terror by a party in Mayf air ; but our Pompeian rev-
ellers seemed to behold the spectacle with delighted
curiosity, and applauded in proportion as the dancer
appeared with the most difficulty to miss falling upon
the head of whatever guest he particularly selected to
dance above. He paid the senator, indeed, the peculiar
compliment of literally falling from the rope, and catch-
ing it again with his hand, just as the whole jparty im-
agined the skull of the Roman was as much fractured
as ever that of the poet whom the eagle took for a tor-
toise. At length, to the great relief of at least lone,
who had not much accustomed herself to this enter-
340 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
tainment, the dancer suddenly paused, as a strain of
music was heard from without. He danced again still
more wildly ; the air changed, the dancer paused again ;
no, it could not dissolve the charm which was supposed
to possess him ! He represented one who by a strange
disorder is compelled to dance, and whom only a cer-
tain air of music can cure.^ At length the musician
seemed to hit on the right tune; the dancer gave one
leap, swung himself down from the rope, alighted on
the floor and vanished.
One art now yielded to another ; and the musicians
who were stationed without on the terrace struck up a
soft and mellow air, to which were sung the following
words, made almost indistinct, by the barrier between,
and the exceeding lowness of the minstrelsy : —
FESTIVE MUSIC SHOULD BE LOW
I.
" Hark ! through these flowers our music sends its greeting
To your loved halls, where Psilas^ shuns the day;
When the young god his Cretan nymph was meeting
He taught Pan's rustic pipe this gliding lay:
Soft as the dews of wine
Shed in this banquet hour,
The rich libation of Sound's stream divine,
O reverent harp, to Aphrodite pour!
II.
" Wild rings the trump o'er ranks to glory marching ;
Music's sublimer bursts for war are meet ;
But sweet lips murmuring under wreaths o'erarching,
Find the low whispers like their own most sweet.
Stiiil, my lull'd music, steal
Like woman's half -heard tone.
So that whoe'er shall hear, shall think to feel
In thee the voice of lips that love his own."
1 A dance still retained in Campania. * Bacchus.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 341
At the end of that song lone's cheek blushed more
deeply than before, and Glaucus had contrived, under
cover of the table, to steal her hand.
" It is a pretty song,'* said Fulvius, patronisingly.
" Ah ! if you would oblige us ! " murmured the wife
of Pansa.
*' Do you wish Fulvius to sing? " asked the king of
the feast, who had just called on the assembly to drink
the health of the Roman senator, a cup to each letter of
his name.
" Can you ask ? " said the matron, with a complimen-
tary glance at the poet.
Sallust snapped his fingers, and whispering the slave
who came to learn his orders, the latter disappeared,
and returned in few moments with a small harp in one
hand, and a branch of myrtle in the other.
The slave approached the poet, and with a low rev-
erence presented to him the harp.
Alas ! I cannot play," said the poet.
Then you must sing to the myrtle. It is a Greek
fashion : Diomed loves the Greeks — I love the Greeks
— ^you love the Greeks — we all love the Greeks, and be-
tween you and me this is not the only thing we have
stolen from them. However, I introduce this custom —
I, the king: sing, subject, sing I "
The poet, with a bashful smile, took the myrtle in
his hands, and after a short prelude, sang as follows, in
a pleasant and well-tuned voice : —
THE CORONATION OF THE LOVES 1
I.
" The merry Loves one holiday
Were all at gambols madly ;
* Suggested by two Pompeian pictures in the Museum at
Naples, which represented a dove and a helmet enthroned by
Cupids.
if
it
343 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
But Loves too long can seldom play
Without behaving sadly.
They laugh' d, they toy'd, they romp'd about,
And then for change they all fell out.
Fie, fie ! how can they quarrel so ?
My Lesbia — ah, for shame, love !
Methinks 'tis scarce an hour ago
When we did just the same, love.
II.
*' The Loves, 'tis thought, were free till then,
They had no king or laws, dear;
But gods, like men, should subject be,
' Say all the ancient saws, dear.
And so our crew resolved, for quiet,
To choose a king to curb their riot.
A kiss: ah! what a grievous thing
For both, methinks, 'twould be, child.
If I should take some prudish king,
And cease to be so free, child!
m.
" Among their toys a casque they found.
It was the helm of Ares;
With horrent plumes the crest was crown'd.
It frightened all the Lares.
So fine a king was never known —
They placed the helmet on the throne.
My girl, since Valour wins the world,
They chose a mighty master;
But thy sweet flag of smiles unfurled
Would win the world much faster I
IV.
** The Casque soon found the loves too wild
A troop for him to school them ;
For warriors know how one such child
Has aye contrived to fool them.
They plagued him so, that in despair
He took a wife the plague to share.
If kings themselves thus find the strife
Of earth, unshared, severe, girl;
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 343
Why just to halve the ills of life,
Come, take your partner here, girl.
V.
" Within that room the Bird of Lave
The whole affair had eyed then;
The monarch hail'd the royal dove,
And placed her by his side then :
What mirth amidst the Loves was seen!
* Long live,' they cried, ' our King and Queen.'
Ah ! Lesbia, would that thrones were mine,
And crowns to deck that brow, love!
And yet I know that heart of thine
For me is throne enow, love !
VI.
" The urchins hoped to tease the mate
As they had teased the hero ;
But when the Dove in judgment sate
They found her worse than Nero !
Each look a frown, each word a law;
The little subjects shook with awe.
In thee I find the same deceit; —
Too late, alas! a learner!
For where a mien more gently sweet
And where a tyrant sterner ? "
This song, which greatly suited the gay and lively
fancy of the Pompeians, was received with consid-
erable applause, and the widow insisted on crowning
her namesake with the very branch of myrtle to which
he had sung. It was easily twisted into a garland, and
the immortal Fulvius was crowned amidst the clapping
of hands and shouts of lo triumphe! The song and
the harp now circulated round the party, a new myrtle
branch being handed about, stopping at each person
who could be prevailed upon to sing.^
^According to Plutarch (Sympos. lib. i.) it seems that the
branch of myrtle or laurel was not carried round in order, but
passed from the first person on one couch to the first on an-
other, and then from the second on the one to the second on
the other, and so on.
344 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The sun began now to decline, though the revellers,
who had worn away several hours, perceived it not in
their darkened chamber; and the senator, who was
tired, and the warrior, who had to return to Hercu-
laneum, rising to depart, gave the signal for the gen-
eral dispersion. " Tarry yet a moment, my friends,"
said Diomed : " if you will go so soon, you must at least
take a share in our concluding game."
So saying, he motioned to one of the ministri, and
whispering him, the slave went out, and presently re-
turned with a small bowl containing various tablets
carefully sealed, and, apparently, exactly similar. Each
guest was to purchase one of these at the nominal price
of the lowest piece of silver ; and the sport of this lot-
tery (which was the favourite diversion of Augustus,
who introduced it) consisted in the inequality, and
sometimes the incongruity of the prizes, the nature and
amount of which were specified within the tablets. For
instance, the poet, with a wry face, drew one of his
own poems (no physician ever less willingly swallowed
his own draught) ; the warrior drew a case of bodkins,
which gave rise to certain novel witticisms relative to
Hercules and the distaff; the widow Fulvia obtained
a large drinking-cup ; Julia, a gentleman's buckle ; and
Lepidus, a lady's patch-box. The most appropriate lot
was drawn by the gambler Clodius, who reddened with
anger on being presented to a set of cogged dice.^ A
certain damp was thrown upon the gaiety which these
various lots created by an accident that was consid-
ered ominous; Glaucus drew the most valuable of all
the prizes, a small marble statue of Fortune, of Grecian
^ Several cogged dice were found in Pompeii. Some of the
virtues may be modern, but it is quite clear that all the vices
are ancient.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 345
workmanship : on handing it to him the slave suffered
it to drop, and it broke in pieces.
A shiver went round the assembly, and each voice
cried spontaneously on the gods to avert the omen.
Glaucus, alone, though perhaps as superstitious as
the rest, affected to be unmoved.
" Sweet Neapolitan," whispered he tenderly to lone,
who had turned pale as the broken marble itself, " I
accept the omen. It signifies that in obtaining thee,
Fortune can give no more, — she breaks her image when
she blesses me with thine,'*
In order to divert the impression which this incident
had occasioned in an assembly which, considering the
civilisation of the guests, would seem miraculously
superstitious, if at the present day in a country party
we did not often see a lady grow hypochondriacal on
leaving a room last of thirteen, Sallust now crowning
his cup with flowers, gave the health of their host.
This was followed by a similar compKment to the em-
peror ; and then, with a parting cup to Mercury to send
them pleasant slumbers, they concluded the entertain-
ment by a last libation, and broke up the party.
Carriages and litters were little used in Pompeii,
partly owing to the extreme narrowness of the streets,
partly to the convenient smallness of the city. Most
of the guests replacing their sandals, which they had
put off in the banquet-room, and induing their cloaks,
left the house on foot attended by their slaves.
Meanwhile, having seen lone depart, Glaucus turn-
ing to the staircase which led down to the rooms of
Julia, was conducted by a slave to an apartment in
which he found the merchant's daughter already seated.
" Glaucus ! " said she, looking down, " I see that you
really love lone — she is indeed beautiful."
346 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Julia is charming enough to be generous," replied
the Greek. " Yes, I love lone ; amidst all the youth
who court you, may you have one worshipper as sin-
cere."
" I pray the gods to grant it ! See, Glaucus, these
pearls are the present I destine to your bride : may Juno
give her health to wear them ! "
So saying, she placed a case in his hand, containing
a row of pearls of some size and price. It was so much
the custom for persons about to be married to receive
these gifts, that Glaucus could have little scruple in ac-
cepting the necklace, though the gallant and proud
Athenian inly resolved to requite the gift by one of
thrice its value. Julia then stopping short his thanks,
poured forth some wine into a small bowl.
" You have drunk many toasts with my father," said
she, smiling, — " one now with me. Health and fortune
to your bride ! "
She touched the cup with her lips and then preisented
it to Glaucus. The customary etiquette required that
Glaucus should drain the whole contents; he accord-
ingly did so. Julia, unknowing the deceit which Nydia
had practised upon her, watched him with sparkling
eyes; although the witch had told her that the effect
might not be immediate, she yet sanguinely trusted to
an expeditious operation in favour of her charms. She
was disappointed when she found Glaucus coldly re-
place the cup, and converse with her in the same un-
moved but gentle tone as before. And though she
detained him as long as she decorously could do, no
change took place in his manner.
" But to-morrow," thought she, exultingly recover-
ing her disappointment, — " to-morrow, alas for Glau-
cus ! "
Alas for him, indeed !
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 347
CHAPTER IV
THE STORY HALTS FOR A MOMENT AT AN EPISODE.
Restless and anxious, Apaecides consumed the day
in wandering through the most sequestered walks in
the vicinity of the city. The sun was slowly setting as
he paused beside a lonely part of the Samus, ere yet it
wound amidst the evidences of luxury and power.
Only through openings in the woods and vines were
caught glimpses of the white and gleaming city, in
which was heard in the distance no din, no sound, nor
" busiest hum of men." Amidst the green banks crept
the lizard and the grasshopper, and here and there in
the brake some solitary bird burst into sudden song, as
suddenly stilled. There was deep calm around, but not
the calm of night ; the air still breathed of the freshness
and life of day ; the grass still moved to the stir of the
insect horde; and on the opposite bank the graceful
and white capella passed browsing through the herb-
age, and paused at the wave to drink.
As Apaecides stood musingly gazing upon the wa-
ters, he heard beside him the low bark of a dog.
" Be still, poor friend," said a voice at hand ; " the
stranger's step harms not thy master." The convert
recognised the voice, and, turning, he beheld the old
mysterious man whom he had seen in the congregation
of the Nazarenes.
The old man was sitting upon a fragment of stone
covered with ancient mosses ; beside him were his staff
and scrip ; at his feet lay a small shaggy dog, the com-
panion in how many a pilgrimage perilous and strange.
The face of the old man was as balm to the excited
348 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
spirit of the neophyte : he approached, and craving his
blessing, sat down beside him.
" Thou art provided as for a journey, father," said
he : " wilt thou leave us yet? "
" My son," replied the old man, " the days in store
for me on earth are few and scanty ; I employ them as
becomes me, travelling from place to place, comforting
those whom God has gathered together in His name,
and proclaiming the glory of His Son, as testified to
His servant."
" Thou hast looked, they tell me, on the face of
Christ?"
" And the face revived me from the dead. Know,
young proselyte to the true faith, that I am he of whom
thou readest in the scrcdl of the Apostle. In the far
Judea, and in the city of Nain, there dwelt a widow,
humble of spirit and sad of heart ; for of all the ties of
life one son alone was spared to her. And she loved
him with a melancholy love, for he was the likeness of
the lost. And the son died. The reed on which she
leaned was broken, the oil was dried up in the widow's
cruse. They bore the dead upon his bier; and near
the gate of the city, where the crowd was gathered,
there came a silence over the sounds of woe, for the
Son of God was passing by. The mother, who fol-
lowed the bier, wept, — not noisily, but all who looked
upon her saw that her heart was crushed. And the
Lord pitied her, and He touched the bier, and said, ' I
SAY UNTO THEE, Arise.^ And the dead man woke and
looked upon the face of the Lord. Oh, that calm and
solemn brow, that unutterable smile, that careworn
and sorrowful face, lighted up with a God's benignity
— it chased away the shadows of the grave I I rose, I
spoke, I was living, and in my mother's arms — ^yes, /
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 349
am the dead revived ! The people shouted, the funeral
horns rung forth merrily : there was a cry, \ God has
visited His people ! ' I heard them not — I felt — I saw
—nothing — ^but the face of. the Redeemer! "
The old man paused, deeply moved; and the youth
felt his blood creep, and his hair stir. He was in the
presence of one who had known the Mystery of Death !
" Till that time," renewed the widow's son, " I had
been as other men : thoughtless, not abandoned ; taking
no heed, but of the things of love and life ; nay, I had
inclined to the gloomy faith of the earthly Sadducee !
But, raised from the dead, from awful and desert
dreams that these lips never dare reveal — recalled upon
earth, to testify the powers of Heaven — once more
mortal, the witness of immortality, I drew a new being
from the grave. O faded — O lost Jerusalem! — Him
from whom came my life, I beheld adjudged to the
agonised and parching death! — Far in the mighty
crowd, I saw the light rest and glimmer over the cross ;
I heard the hooting mob, I cried aloud, I rayed, I
threatened — ^none heeded me — I was lost in the whirl
and the roar of thousands ! But even then, in my agony
and His own, methought*the glazing eye of the Son of
Man sought me out — His lip smiled, as when it con-
quered death — it hushed me, and I became calm. He
who had defied the grave for another, — what was the
grave to Him ? The sun shone aslant the pale and pow-
erful features, and then died away! Darkness fell
over the earth; how long it endured I know not. A
loud cry came through the gloom — a sharp and bitter
cry ! — and all was silent.
" But who shall tell the terrors of the night ? I
walked along the city — ^the earth reeled to and fro, and
the houses trembled to their base — the living had de-
350 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
serted the streets but not the dead: through the gloom
I saw them glide — ^the dim and ghastly shapes, in the
cerements of the grave, — with horror, arid woe, and
warning on their unmoving lips and lightless eyes! —
they swept by me, as I passed — they glared upon me —
I had been their brother ; and they bowed their heads
in recognition ; they had risen to tell the living that the
dead can rise ! "
Again the old man paused, and, when he resumed, it
was in a calmer tone.
" From that night I resigned all earthly thought but
that of serving Him. A preacher and a pilgrim, I have
traversed the remotest corners of the earth, proclaim-
ing His Divinity, and bringing new converts to His
fold. I come as the wind, and as the wind depart;
sowing, as the wind sows, the seeds that enrich the
world.
" Son, on earth we shall meet no more. Forget not
this hour — what are the pleasures and the pomps of
life ? As the lamp shines, so life glitters for an hour ;
but the soul's light is the star that bums for ever in the
heart of illimitable space."
It was then that their conveft'sation fell upon the gen-
eral and sublime doctrines of immortality; it soothed
and elevated the young mind of the convert, which yet
clung to many of the damps and shadows of that cell
of faith which he had so lately left — ^it was the air of
heaven breathing on the prisoner released at last.
There was a strong and marked distinction between
the Christianity of the old man and that of Olinthus ;
that of the first was more soft, more gentle, more di-
vine. The hard heroism of Olinthus had something in
it fierce and intolerant — it was necessary to the part
he was destined to play — ^it had in it more of the cour-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 351
age of the martyr than the charity of the saint. It
aroused, it excited, it nerved, rather than subdued and
softened. But the whole heart of that divine old man
was bathed in love ; the smile of the Deity had burned
away from it the leaven of earthlier and coarser pas-
sions, and left to the energy of the hero all the meek-
ness of the child.
" And now," said he, rising at length, as the sun's
last ray died in the west ; " now, in the cool of twilight,
I pursue my way towards the Imperial Rome. There
yet dwell some holy men who like me have beheld the
face of Christ ; and them would I see before I die."
" But the night is chill for, thine age, my father, and
the way is long, and the robber haunts it ; rest thee till
to-morrow."
" Kind son, what is there in this scrip to tempt the
robber? And the Night and the Solitude! — these
make the ladder round which angels cluster, and be-
neath which my spirit can dream of God. Oh! none
can know what the pilgrim feels as he walks on his
holy course ; nursing no fear, and dreading no danger
— for God is with him ! He hears the winds murmur
glad tidings; the woods sleep in the shadow of Al-
mighty wings ; — the stars are the Scriptures of Heaven,
the tokens of love, and the witnesses of immortality.
Night is the pilgrim's day." With these words the old
man pressed Apaecides to his breast, and taking up his
staff and scrip, the dog bounded cheerily before him,
and with slow steps and downcast eyes he went his way.
The convert stood watching his bended form, till the
trees shut the last glimpse from his view ; and then, as
the stars broke forth, he woke from the musings with a
start, reminded of his appointment with Olinthus.
352 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
CHAPTER V
THE PHILTRE — ITS EFFECT.
When Glaucus arrived at his own home, he found
Nydia seated under the portico of his garden. In fact,
she had sought his house in the mere chance that he
might return at an early hour: anxious, fearful, an-
ticipative, she resolved upon seizing the earliest oppor-
tunity of availing herself of the love-charm, while at
the same time she half hoped the opportunity might be
deferred.
It was then, in that fearful burning mood, her heart
beating, her cheek flushing, that Nydia awaited the pos-
sibility of Glaucus's return before the night. He
crossed the portico just as the first stars began to rise,
and the heaven above had assumed its most purple
robe.
" Ho, my child, wait you for me? "
" Nay, I have been tending the flowers, and did but
linger a little while to rest myself."
" It has been warm," said Glaucus, placing himself
also on one of the seats beneath the colonnade.
" Very."
"Wilt thou summon Davus? The wine I have
drunk heats me, and I long for some cooling drink."
Here at once, suddenly and unexpectedly, the very
opportunity that Nydia awaited presented itself; of
himself, at his own free choice, he afforded to her that
occasion. She breathed quick — " I will prepare for
you myself," said she, " the summer draught that lone
loves— of honey and weak wine cooled in snow."
" Thanks," said the unconscious Glaucus. " If lone
love it, enough ; it would be grateful were it poison."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 353
Nydia frowned, and then smiled; she withdrew for
a few moments, and returned with the cup containing
the beverage. Glaucus took it from her hand. What
would not Nydia have given then for one hour's pre-
rogative of sight, to have watched her hopes ripening
to effect ; — to have seen the first dawn of the imagined
love; — ^to have worshipped with more than Persian
adoration the rising of that sun which her credulous
soul believed was to break upon her dreary night ! Far
different, as she stood then and there, were the
thoughts, the emotions of the blind girl, from those of
the vain Pompeian under a similar suspense. In the
last, what poor and frivolous passions had made up
the daring whole ! What petty pique, what small re-
venge, what expectation of a paltry triumph, had
swelled the attributes of that sentiment she dignified
with the name of love! But in the wild heart of the
Thessalian all was pure, uncontrolled, unmodified pas-
sion;— erring, unwomanly, frenzied, but debased by
no elements of a more sordid feeling. Filled with love
as with life itself, how could she resist the occasion of
winning love in return?
She leaned for support against the wall, and her face,
before so flushed, was now white as snow, and with
her delicate hands clasped convulsively together, her
lips apart, her eyes on the ground, she waited the next
words Glaucus should utter.
Glaucus had raised the cup to his lips, he had already
drained about a fourth of its contents, when his eye
suddenly glancing upon the face of Nydia, he was so
forcibly struck by its alteration, by its intense, and pain-
ful, and strange expression, that he paused abruptly,
and still holding the cup near his lips, exclaimed —
" Why, Nydia ! Nydia ! I say, art thou ill or in pain ?
23
354 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Nay, thy face speaks for thee. What ails my poor
child ? " As he spoke, he put down the cup and rose
from his seat to approach her, when a sudden pang
shot coldly to his heart, and was followed by a wild,
confused, dizzy sensation at the brain. The floor
seemed to glide from under him — ^his feet seemed to
move on air — a mighty and unearthly gladness rushed
upon his spirit — he felt too buoyant for the earth — ^he
longed for wings, nay, it seemed in the buoyancy of
his new existence, as if he possessed them. He burst
involuntarily into a loud and thrilling laugh. He
clapped his hands — ^he bounded aloft — he was as a
Pythoness inspired; suddenly as it came this preter-
natural transport passed, though only partially, away.
He now felt his blood rushing loudly and rapidly
through his veins ; it seemed to swell, to exult, to leap
along, as a stream that has burst its bounds, and hur-
ries to the Ocean. It throbbed in his ear with a mighty
sound, he felt it mount to his brow, he felt the veins in
the temples stretch and swell as if they could no longer
contain the violent and increasing tide — ^then a kind of
darkness fell over his eyes — darkness, but not entire;
for through the dim shade he saw the opposite walls
glow out, and the figures painted thereon seemed,
ghost-like, to creep and glide. What was most strange,
he did not feel himself ill — he did not sink or quail be-
neath the dread frenzy that was gathering over him.
The novelty of the feelings seemed bright and vivid —
he felt as if a younger health had been infused into his
frame. He was gliding on to madness — and he knew
it not !
Nydia had not answered his first question — she had
not been able to feply — his wild and fearful laugh had
roused her from her passionate suspense: she could
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 3SS
not see his fierce gestures — she could not mark his reel-
ing and unsteady step as he paced unconsciously to and
fro; but she heard the words, broken, incoherent, in-
sane, that gushed from his lips. She became terrified
and appalled — she hastened to him, feeling with her
arms until she touched his knees, and then falling on
the ground she embraced them, weeping with terror
and excitement.
" Oh, speak to me ! speak I you do not hate me ? —
speak, speak I "
" By the bright goddess, a beautiful land this Cy-
prus I Ho I how they fill us with wine instead of blood !
Now they open the veins of the Faun yonder to show
how the tide within bubbles and sparkles. Come
hither, jolly old god I thou ridest on a goat, eh? — what
long silky hair he has ! He is worth all the courses of
Parthia. But a word with thee — this wine of thine is
too strong for us mortals. Oh I beautiful I the boughs
are at rest I the green waves of the forest have caught
the Zephyr and drowned him ! Not a breath stirs the
leaves — ^and I view the Dreams sleeping with folded
wings upon the motionless elm ; and I look beyond, and
I see a blue stream sparkle in the silent noon ! — a foun-
tain— a fountain springing aloft ! Ah ! my fount, thou
wilt not put out the rays of my Grecian sun, though
thou triest ever so hard with thy nimble and silver
arms. And now, what form steals yonder through the
boughs? she glides like a moonbeam — she has a gar-
land of oak-leaves on her head. In her hand is a vase
upturned, from which she pours pink and tiny shells,
and sparkling water. Oh! look on yon face! Man
never before saw its like. See ! we are alone ; only I and
she in the wide forest. There is no smile upon her lips
— she moves, grave and sweetly sad. Ha ! fly, it is a
356 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
nymph I it is one of the wild Napaeae ! ^ Whoever sees
her becomes mad — fly ! see, she discovers me I "
" Oh ! Glaucus ! Glaucus ! do you not know me ?
Rave not so wildly, or thou wilt kill me with a word 1 "
A new change seemed now to operate upon the jar-
ring and disordered mind ojF the unfortunate Athenian.
He put his hands upon Nydia's silken hair; he
smoothed the locks — he looked wistfully upon her face,
and then, as in the broken chain of thought one or two
links were yet unsevered, it seemed that her counte-
nance brought it associations of lone ; and with that re-
membrance his madness became yet more powerful,
and it was swayed and tinged by passion, as he burst
forth, —
" I swear by Venus, by Diana, and by Juno, that
though I have now the world on my shoulders, as my
countryman Hercules (ah, dull Rome! whoever was
truly great was of Greece ; why, you would be godless
if it were not for us!) — I say, as my countryman Her-
cules had before me, I would let it fall into chaos for
one smile from lone. Ah, Beautiful, — Adored," he
added, in a voice inexpressibly fond and plaintive,
" thou lovest me not. Thou art unkind to me. The
Egyptian hath belied me to thee — thou knowest not
what hours I have spent beneath thy casement — thou
knowest not how I have outwatched the stars, thinking
thou, my sun, wouldst rise at last, — ^and thou lovest
me not, thou f orsakest me ! Oh I do not leave me now I
I feel that my life will not be long ; let me gaze on thee
at least unto the last. I am of the bright land of thy
fathers — I have trod the heights of Phyle — I have
gathered the hyacinth and rose amidst the olive-groves
of lUssus. Thou shouldst not desert me, for thy
1 Presiding over hills and woods.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 357
fathers were brothers to my own. And they say this
land is lovely, and these climes serene, but I will bear
thee with me — Ho I dark form, why risest thou like a
cloud between me and mine? Death sits calmly dread
upon thy brow — on thy lip is the smile that slays : thy
name is Orcus, but on earth men call thee Arbaces.
See, I know thee! fly, dim shadow, thy spells avail
not I "
** Glaucus I Glaucus I " murmured Nydia, releasing
her hold and falling, beneath the excitement of her dis-
may, remorse, and anguish, insensible on the floor.
" Who calls ? " said he, in a loud voice. " lone, it is
she ! they have borne her oflf — we will save her — where
is my stilus ? Ha, I have it I I come, lone, to thy res-
cue ! I come ! I come ! "
So saying, the Athenian with one bound passed the
portico, he traversed the house, and rushed with swift
but vacillating steps, and muttering audibly to himself,
down the starlit streets. The direful potion burnt like
fire in his veins, for its effect was made, perhaps, still
more sudden from the wine he had drunk previously.
Used to the excesses of nocturnal revellers, the citizens,
with smiles and winks, gave way to his reeling steps ;
they naturally imagined him under the influence of the
Bromian god, not vainly worshipped at Pompeii; but
they who looked twice upon his face started in a name-
less fear, and the smile withered from their lips. He
passed the more populous streets; and, pursuing me-
chanically the way to Tone's house, he traversed a more
deserted quarter, and entered now the lonely grove of
Cybele, in which Apaecides had held his interview with
Olinthus.
358 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
CHAPTER VI
A REUNION OF DIFFERENT ACTORS. — STREAMS THAT
FLOWED APPARENTLY APART RUSH INTO ONE GULF.
Impatient to learn whether the fell drug had yet been
administered by Julia to his hated rival, and with what
effect, Arbaces resolved, as the evening came on, to
seek her house, and satisfy his suspense. It was cus-
tomary, as I have before said, for men at that time to
carry abroad with them the tablets and the stilus at-
tached to their girdle; and with the girdle they were
put off when at home. In fact, under the appearance
of a literary instrument, the Romans carried about
with them in that same stilus a very sharp and for-
midable weapon. It was with his stilus ^ that Cassius
stabbed Caesar in the senate-house. Taking, then,
his girdle and his cloak, Arbaces left his house, sup-
porting his steps, which were still somewhat feeble
(though hope and vengeance had conspired greatly
with his own medical science, which was profound, to
restore his natural strength), by his long staff: Ar-
baces took his way to the villa of Diomed.
And beautiful is the moonlight of the south! In
those climes the night so quickly glides into the day,
that twilight scarcely makes a bridge between them.
One moment of darker purple in the sky— of a thou-
sand rose-hues in the water— of shade half victorious
over light ; and then burst forth at once the countless
stars — ^the moon is up — night has resumed her reign!
Brightly then, and softly bright, fell the moonbeams
over the antique grove consecrated to Cybele — the
1 From the stilus may be derived the stiletto of the Italians.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 359
stately trees, whose date went beyond tradition, cast
their long shadows over the soil, while through the
openings in their boughs the stars shone, still and fre-
quent. The whiteness of the small sacellum in the cen-
tre of the grove, amidst the dark foliage, had in it some-
thing abrupt and startling; it recalled at once the
purpose to which the wood was consecrated, — its holi-
ness and solemnity.
With a swift and stealthy pace, Calenus, gliding un-
der the shade of the trees, reached the chapel, and
gently putting back the boughs that completely closed
around its rear, settled himself in his concealment; a
concealment so complete, what with the fane in front
and the trees behind, that no unsuspicious passenger
could possibly have detected him. Again, all was ap-
parently solitary in the grove: afar off you heard
faintly the voices of some noisy revellers, or the music
that played cheerily to the groups that then, a^ now, in
those climates, during the nights of summer, lingered
in the streets, and enjoyed, in the fresh air and the
liquid moonlight, a milder day.
From the height on which the grove was placed, you
saw through the intervals of the trees the broad and
purple sea, rippling in the distance, the white villas of
Stabiae in the curving shore, and the dim Lectiarian
hills mingling with the delicious sky. Presently the
tall figure of Arbaces, on his way to the house of Dio-
med, entered the extreme end of the grove ; and at the
same instant Apaecides, also bound to his appointment
with Olinthus, crossed the Egyptian's path.
" Hem ! Apaecides," said Arbaces, recognising the
priest at a glance ; " when last we met, you were my
foe. I have wished since then to see you, for I would
have you still my pupil and my friend."
36o THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Apaecide^. started at the voice of the Egyptian : and
halting abruptly, gazed upon him with a countenance
full of contending, bitter, and scornful emotions.
" Villain and impostor ! " said he at length ; " thou
hast recovered then from the jaws of the grave ! But
think not again to weave around me thy guilty meshes.
— Retiarius, I am armed against thee ! ''
" Hush ! " said Arbaces, in a very low voice — ^but
his pride, which in that descendant of kings was great,
betrayed the wound it received from the insulting
epithets of the priest in the quiver of his lip and the
flush of his tawny brow. " Hush ! more low ! thou
mayest be overheard, and if other ears than mine had
drunk those sounds — whv "
" Dost thou threaten ? — what if the whole city had
heard me ? "
" The manes of my ancestors would not have suf-
fered me to forgive thee. But, hold, and hear me.
Thou art enraged that I would have offered violence to
thy sister. — Nay, peace, peace, but one instant, I pray
thee. Thou art right ; it was the frenzy of passion and
of jealousy — I have repented bitterly of my madness.
Forgive me; I, who never implored pardon of living
man, beseech thee now to forgive me. Nay, I will atone
the insult — I ask thy sister in marriage ; — start not, —
consider, — what is the alliance of yon holiday Greek
compared to mine? Wealth unbounded — ^birth that in
its far antiquity leaves your Greek and Roman names
the things of yesterday — science — but that thou know-
est ! Give me thy sister, and my whole life shall atone
a moment's error.*'
" Egyptian, were even I to consent, my sister loathes
the very air thou breathest : but I have my own wrongs
to forgive — I may pardon thee that thou hast made me
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 361
a tool to thy deceits, but never that thou hast seduced
me to become the abettor of thy vices — a polluted and
a perjured man. Tremble! — even now I prepare the
hour in which thou and thy false gods shall be unveiled.
Thy lewd and Circean life shall be dragged to day, —
thy mumming oracles disclosed — the fane of the idol
Isis shall be a by-word and a scorn — the name of Ar-
baces a mark for the hisses of execration ! Tremble I "
The flush on the Egyptian's brow was succeeded by
a livid paleness. He looked behind, before, around, to
feel assured that none was by; and then he fixed his
dark and dilating eye on the priest, with such a gaze
of wrath and menace, that one, perhaps^ less supported
than Apaecides by the fervent daring of a divine zeal,
could not have faced with unflinching look that low-
ering aspect. As it was, however, the young convert
met it unmoved, and returned it with an eye of proud
defiance.
" Apaecides," said the Egyptian, in a tremulous and
inward tone, " beware ! What is it thou wouldst medi-
tate? Speakest thou — reflect, pause before thou re-
pliest — from the hasty influences of wrath, as yet di-
vining no settled purpose, or from some fixed design ? "
" I speak from the inspiration of the True God,
whose servant I now am," answered the Christian,
boldly ; " and in the knowledge that by His grace hu-
man courage has already fixed the date of thy hypocrisy
and thy demon's worship; ere thrice the sun has
dawned, thou wilt know all ! Dark sorcerer, tremble,
and farewell ! *'
All the fierce and lurid passions which he inherited
from his nation and his clime, at all times but ill con-
cealed beneath the blandness of craft and the coldness
of philosophy, were released in the breast of the Egyp-
362 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
tian. Rapidly one thought chased another ; he saw be-
fore him an obstinate barrier to even a lawful alliance
with lone — ^the fellow-champion of Glaucus in the
struggle which had baffled his designs — the reviler of
his name — the threatened desecrator of the goddess he
served while he disbelieved — ^the avowed and approach-
ing revealer of his own impostures and vices. His love,
his repute, nay, his very life, might be in danger — the
day and hour seemed even to have been fixed for some
design against him. He knew by the words of the con-
vert that Apsecides had adopted the Christian faith : he
knew the indomitable zeal which led on the proselytes
of that creed. Such was his enemy; he grasped his
stilus, — ^that enemy was in his power ! They were now
before the chapel ; one hasty glance once more he cast
around ; he saw none near, — silence and solitude alike
tempted him.
" Die, then, in thy rashness I " he muttered ; " away,
obstacle to my rushing fates ! "
And just as the young Christian had turned to de-
part, Arbaces raised his hand high over the left shoul-
der of Apaecides, and plunged his sharp weapon twice
into his breast.
Apaecides fell to the ground pierced to the heart, —
he fell mute, without even a groan, at the very base of
the sacred chapel.
Arbaces gazed upon him for a moment with the
fierce animal joy of conquest over a foe. But presently
the full sense of the danger to which he was exposed
flashed upon him ; he wiped his weapon carefully in the
long grass, and with the very garments of his victim ;
drew his cloak round him, and was about to depart,
when he saw, coming up the path, right before him, the
figure of a young man, whose steps reeled and vacil-
"1
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 363
lated strangely as he advanced: the quiet moonlight
streamed full upon his face, which seemed, by the
whitening ray, colourless as marble. The Egyptian
recognised the face and form of Glaucus. The unfor-
tunate and benighted Greek was chanting a discon-
nected and mad song, composed from snatches of
hymns and sacred odes, all jarringly woven together.
" Ha ! '' thought the Egyptian, instantaneously divin-
ing his state and its terrible cause ; " so, then, the hell-
draught works, and destiny hath sent thee hither to
crush two of my foes at once ! "
Quickly, even ere this thought occurred to him, he
had withdrawn on one side of the chapel, and con-
cealed himself amongst the boughs ; from that lurking-
place he watched, as a tiger in his lair, the advance of
his second victim. He noted the wandering and rest-
less fire in the bright and beautiful eyes of the Athe-
nian; the convulsions that distorted his statue-like
features, and writhed his hueless lip. He saw that the
Greek was utterly deprived of reason. Nevertheless,
as Glaucus came up to the dead body of Apsecides, from
which the dark red stream flowed slowly over the grass,
so strange and ghastly a spectacle could not fail to ar-
rest him, benighted and erring as was his glimmering
sense. He paused, placed his hand to his brow, as if
to collect himself, and then saying, —
"What ho! Endymion, sleepest thou so soundly?
What has the moon said to thee? Thou makest me
jealous; it is time to wake," — he stooped down with
the intention of lifting up the body.
Forgetting — feeling not — ^his own debility, the
Egyptian sprung from his hiding-place, and, as. the
Greek bent, struck him forcibly to the ground, over the
very body of the Christian ; then, raising his powerful
voice to its loudest pitch he shouted, —
364 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Ho, citizens, — ho I help me ! — run hither — ^hither !
— ^A murder — a murder before your very fane ! Help,
or the murderer escapes ! " As he spoke, he placed his
foot on the breast of Glaucus : an idle and superfluous
precaution ; for the potion operating with the fall, the
Greek lay there motionless and insensible, save that
now and then his lips gave vent to some vague and
raving sounds.
As he there stood awaiting the coming of those his
voice still continued to summon, perhaps some remorse,
some compunctious visitings — for despite his crimes he
was human, — haunted the breast of the Egyptian ; the
defenceless state of Glaucus — his wandering words —
his shattered reason, smote him even more than the
death of Apaecides, and he said half audibly, to him-
self,—
" Poor clay I — poor human reason ! where is the soul
now? I could spare thee, O my rival — rival never
morel But destiny must be obeyed — ^my safety de-
mands thy sacrijSce." With that, as if to drown com-
punction, he shouted yet more loudly; and drawing
from the girdle of Glaucus the stilus it contained, he
steeped it in the blood of the murdered man, and laid it
beside the corpse.
And now, fast and breathless, several of the citizens
came thronging to the place, some with torches, which
the moon rendered unnecessary, but which flared red
and tremulously against the darkness of the trees : they
surrounded the spot.
" Lift up yon corpse," said the Egyptian, " and guard
well the murderer."
They raised the body, and great was their horror and
sacred indignation to discover in that lifeless clay a
priest of the adored and venerable Isis ; but still greater.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 365
perhaps, was their surprise, when they found the ac-
cused in the brilliant and admired Athenian.
" Glaucus ! " cried the bystanders, with one accord ;
*' is it even credible ? "
" I would sooner," whispered one man to his neigh-
bour, " believe it to be the Egyptian himself."
Here a centurion thrust himself into the gathering
crowd, with an air of authority.
" Howl blood spilt! who the murderer?"
The bystanders pointed to Glaucus.
" He I — ^by Mars, he has rather the air of being the
victim I Who accuses him ? "
"I" said Arbaces, drawing himself up haughtily;
and the jewels which adorned his dress flashing in the
eyes of the soldier, instantly convinced that worthy
warrior of the witness's respectability.
Pardon me — your name ? " said he. ^
Arbaces; it is well known methinks in Pompeii.
Passing through the grove, I beheld before me the
Greek and the priest in earnest conversation. I was
struck by the reeling motions of the first, his violent
gestures, and the loudness of his voice; he seemed to
me either drunk or mad. Suddenly I saw him raise his
stilus — I darted forward — too late to arrest the blow.
He had twice stabbed his victim, and was bending over
him, when, in my horror and indignation, I struck the
murderer to the ground. He fell without a struggle,
which makes me yet more suspect that he was not alto-
gether in his senses when the crime was perpetrated;
for, recently recovered from a severe illness, my blow
was comparatively feeble, and the frame of Glaucus, as
you see, is strong and youthful."
" His eyes are open now — his lips move," said the
soldier. " Speak, prisoner, what sayest thou to the
charge ? "
a
it
366 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" The charge — ha — ha ! Why, it was merrily done ;
when the old hag set her serpent at me, and Hecate
stood by laughing from ear to ear — what could I do?
But I am ill — I faint — the serpent's fiery tongue hath
bitten me. Bear me to bed, and send for your physi-
cian ; old iEsculapius himself will attend me if you let
him know that I am Greek. Oh, mercy — mercy — I
bum ! — ^marrow and brain, I bum I "
And, with a thrilling and fierce groan, the Athenian
fell back in the arms of the bystanders.
" He raves," said the officer, compassionately ; " and
in his delirium he has struck the priest. Hath any one
present seen him to-day ? "
" I," said one of the spectators, " beheld him in the
morning. He passed my shop and accosted me. He
seemed well and sane as the stoutest of us."
And I saw him half an hour ago," said another,
passing up the streets muttering to himself with
strange gestures, and just as the Egyptian has de-
scribed."
" A corroboration of the witness ! it must be too true.
He must at all events to the praetor: a pity, so young
and so rich I But the crime is dreadful : a priest of Isis,
in his very robes, too, and at the base itself of our most
ancient chapel ! "
At these words the crowd were reminded more for-
cibly, than in their excitement and curiosity they had
yet been, of the heinousness of the sacrilege. They
shuddered in pious horror.
" No wonder the earth has quaked," said one, " when
it held such a monster ! "
" Away with him to prison — away ! " cried they all.
And one solitary voice was heard shrilly and joy-
ously above the rest : —
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 367
" The beasts will not want a gladiator now,
" ' Ho, ho ! for the merry, merry show ! ' "
It was the voice of the young woman whose conver-
sation with Medon has been repeated.
" True — true — it chances in season for the games ! "
cried several ; and at that thought all pity for the ac-
cused seemed vanished. His youth, his beauty, but
fitted him better for the purpose of the arena.
" Bring hither some planks — or if at hand, a litter —
to bear the dead,*' said Arbaces : " a priest of Isis ought
scarcely to be carried to his temple by vulgar hands,
like a butchered gladiator."
At this the bystanders reverently laid the corpse of
Apsecides on the ground, with the face upwards ; and
some of them went in search of some contrivance to
bear the body, untouched by the profane.
It was just at that time that the crowd gave way to
right and left as a sturdy form forced itself through,
and Olinthus the Christian stood immediately confront-
ing the Egyptian. But his eyes at first only rested with
inexpressible grief and horror on that gory side and
upturned face on which the agony of violent death yet
lingered.
" Murdered I " he said. " Is it thy zeal that has
brought thee to this? Have they detected thy noble
purpose, and by death prevented their own shame ? "
He turned his head abruptly, and his eyes fell full on
the solemn features of the Egyptian.
As he looked, you might see in his face, and even the
slight shiver of his frame, the repugnance and aver-
sion which the Christian f-elt for one whom he knew to
be so dangerous and so criminal. It was indeed the
gaze of the bird upon the basilisk — so silent was it and
368 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
so prolonged. But shaking off the sudden chill that
had crept over him, Olinthus extended his right arm
toward Arbaces, and said, in a deep and loud voice —
" Murder hath been done upon this corpse ! Where
is the murderer ? Stand forth, Egyptian ! For, as the
Lord liveth, I believe thou art the man ! "
An anxious and perturbed change might for one mo-
ment be detected on the dusky features of Arbaces ; but
it gave way to the frowning expression of indignation
and scorn, as, awed and arrested by the suddenness and
vehemence of the charge, the spectators pressed nearer
and nearer upon the two more prominent actors.
" I know," said Arbaces, proudly, " who is my ac-
cuser, and I guess wherefore he thus arraigns me. Men
and citizens, know this man for the most bitter of the
Nazarenes, if that or Christians be their proper name !
What marvel that in his malignity he dares accuse even
an Egyptian of the murder of a priest of Egypt ! "
" I know him I I know the dog ! " shouted several
voices. " It is Olinthus the Christian — or rather the
Atheist ; — ^he denies the gods ! "
" Peace, brethren," said Olinthus, with dignity,
"and hear me! This murdered priest of Isis before
his death embraced the Christian faith — ^he revealed
to me the dark sins, the sorceries of yon Egyptian —
the mummeries and delusions of the fane of Isis. He
was about to declare them publicly. He, a stranger,
unoffending, without enemies! who should shed his
blood but one of those who feared his witness? Who
might fear that testimony the most? — ^Arbaces, the
Egyptian ! "
" You hear him ! " said Arbaces ; " you hear him ! he
blasphemes ! Ask him if he believe in Isis ? "
" Do I believe in an evil demon ? " returned Olinthus,
boldlv.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 369
A groan and shudder passed through the assembly.
Nothing daunted, for prepared at every time for peril,
and in the present excitement losing all prudence, the
Christian continued —
" Back, idolaters I this clay is not for your vain and
polluting rites — it is to us — ^to the followers of Christ,
that the last offices due to a Christian belong. I claim
this dust in the name of the great Creator who has re-
called the spirit I "
With so solemn and commanding a voice and aspect
the Christian spoke these words, that even the crowd
forbore to utter aloud the execration of fear and hatred
which in their hearts they conceived. And never, per-
haps, since Lucifer and the Archangel contended for
the body of the mighty Lawgiver, was there a more
striking subject for the painter's genius than that scene
exhibited. The dark trees — the stately fane — the moon
full on the corpse of the deceased — ^the torches tossing
wildly to and fro in the rear — ^the various faces of the
motley audience — ^the insensible form of the Athenian,
supported, in the distance ; and in the foreground, and
above all, the forms of Arbaces and the Christian ; the
first drawn to its full height, far taller than the herd
around ; his arms folded, his brow knit, his eyes fixed,
his lip slightly curled in defiance and disdain. The last
bearing, on a brow worn and furrowed, the majesty of
an equal command — the features stern, yet frank — ^the
aspect bold, yet open — ^the quiet dignity of the whole
form impressed with an ineffable earnestness, hushed,
as it were, in a solemn sympathy with the awe he him-
self had created. His left hand pointing to the corpse
— ^his right hand raised to heaven.
The centurion pressed forward again.
" In the first place, hast thou, Olinthus, or whatever
24
370 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
be thy name, any proof of the charge thou hast made
against Arbaces, beyond thy vague suspicions ? "
Olinthus remained silent — ^the Egyptian laughed
contemptuously.
" Dost thou claim the body of a priest of Isis as one
of the Nazarene or Christian sect ? "
" I do."
" Swear then by yon fane, yon statue of Cybele, by
yon most ancient sacellum in Pompeii, that the dead
man embraced your faith ! "
" Vain man ! I disown your idols ! I abhor your
temples ! How can I swear by Cybele then ? "
" Away, away with the Atheist ! away ! the earth will
swallow us if we suffer these blasphemers in a sacred
grove — away with him to death ! "
" To the beasts ! " added a female voice in the centre
of the crowd ; " we shall have one a-piece now for the
lion and tiger! "
" If, O Nazarene, thou disbelievest in Cybele, which
of our gods dost thou own ? " resumed the soldier, un-
moved by the cries around.
None I "
Hark to him ! hark ! " cried the crowd.
O vain and blind ! " continued the Christian, rais-
ing his voice ; " can you believe in images of wood and
stone? Do you imagine that they have eyes to see, or
ears to hear, or hands to help ye? Is yon mute thing
carved by man's art a goddess I — ^hath it made man-
kind ? — alas I by mankind was it made ! Lo ! convince
yourselves of its nothingness — of your folly."
And as he spoke he strode across to the fane, and ere
any of the bystanders were aware of his purpose, he, in
his compassion or his zeal, struck the statue of wood
from its pedestal.
u
it
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 371
" See ! " cried he, " your goddess cannot avenge her-
self. Is this a thing to worship ? "
Further words were denied to him : so gross and dar-
ing a sacrilege — of one, too, of the most sacred of their
places of worship— filled even the most lukewarm with
rage and horror. With one accord the crowd rushed
upon him, seized, and but for the interference of the
centurion, they would have torn him to pieces.
" Peace ! " said the soldier, authoritatively, — " refer
we this insolent blasphemer to the proper tribunal —
time has been already wasted. Bear we both the cul-
prits to the magistrates ; place the body of the priest on
the litter— carry it to his own home."
At this moment a priest of Isis stepped forward. " I
claim these remains, according to the custom of the
priesthood."
" The flamen be obeyed," said the centurion. " How
is the murderer? "
" Insensible or asleep."
" Were his crime less, I could pity him. On ! "
Arbaces, as he turned, met the eye of that priest of
Isis — it was Calenus ; and something there was in that
glance, so significant and sinister, that the Egyptian
muttered to himself —
" Could he have witnessed the deed ? "
A girl darted from the crowd, and gazed hard on the
face of Olinthus. "By Jupiter, a stout knave! I say,
we shall have a man for the tiger now; one for each
beast!"
" Ho ! " shouted the mob ; " a man for the lion, and
another for the tiger ! What luck ! lo Paean ! "
372 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
CHAPTER VII
IN WHICH THE READER LEARNS THE CONDITION OF
GLAUCUS. — FRIENDSHIP TESTED. — ENMITY SOFTENED.
— LOVE THE same: — BECAUSE THE ONE LOVING IS
BLIND.
The night was somewhat advanced and the gay
lounging places of the Pompeians were still crowded.
You might observe in the countenances of the various
idlers a more earnest expression than usual. They
talked in large knots or groups, as if they sought by
numbers to divide the half-painful, half-pleasurable
anxiety which belonged to the subject on which they
conversed : it was a subject of life and death.
A young man passed briskly by the graceful portico
of the Temple of Fortune — so briskly, indeed, that he
came with no slight force full against the rotund and
comely form of that respectable citizen Diomed, who
was retiring homeward to his suburban villa.
" Holloa ! " groaned the merchant, recovering with
some difficulty his equilibrium; " have you.no eyes? or
do you think I have no feeling? By Jupiter ! you have
well nigh driven out the divine particle ; such another
shock, and my soul will be in Hades ! "
" Ah, Diomed ! is it you ? forgive my inadvertence.
I was absorbed in thinking of the reverses of life. Our
poor friend, Glaucus, eh ! who could have guessed it ? "
" Well, but tell me, Clodius, is he really to be tried
by the senate ? "
" Yes ; they say the crime is of so extraordinary a
nature that the senate itself must ad}udge it; and so
the lictors are to induct him ^ formallv."
" He has been accused publicly, then ? "
1 Plin. Ep. ii. ii, 12; v. 4, 13.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 373
" To be sure ; where have you been not to hear
that?"
" Why, I have only just returned from Neapolis,
whither I went on business the very morning after his
crime; — so shocking, and at my house the same night
that it happened ! "
" There is no doubt of his guilt," said Clodius,
shrugging his shoulders; "and as these crimes take
precedence of all little undignified peccadilloes, they
will hasten to finish the sentence previous to the
games."
" The games ! Good gods ! " replied Diomed, with a
slight shudder; " can they adjudge him to the beasts?
— so young, so rich ! "
" True ; but then he is a Greek. Had he been a Ro-
man, it would have been a thousand pities. These for-
eigners can be borne with in their prosperity; but in
adversity we must not forget that they are in reality
slaves. However, we of the upper classes are always
tender-hearted ; and he would certainly get off tolerably
well if he were left to us : for, between ourselves, what
is a paltry priest of Isis! — what Isis herself? But
the common people are superstitious ; they clamour for
the blood of the sacrilegious one. It is dangerous not
to give wpy to public opinion."
" And the blasphemer — ^the Christian, or Nazarene,
or whatever else he be called ? "
" Oh, poor dog ! if he will sacrifice to Cybele or Isis,
he will be pardoned — if not, the tiger has him. At
least, so I suppose ; but the trial will decide. We talk
while the urn is still empty. And the Greek may yet
escape the deadly ^ * of his own alphabet. But enough
of this gloomy subject. How is the fair Julia ? "
* e , the initial of Bdtwros (death), the condemning letter of
the Greeks, as C was of the Romans.
374 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
((
((
" Well, I fancy."
" Commend me to her. But hark ! the door yonder
creaks on its hinges ; it is the house of the praetor. Who
comes forth? By Pollux, it is the Egyptian! What
can he want with our official friend ? *'
" Some conference touching the murder, doubtless,"
replied Diomed ; " but what was supposed to be the in-
ducement to the crime ? Glaucus was to have married
the priest's sister."
" Yes ; some say Apaecides refused the alliance. It
might have been a sudden quarrel. Glaucus was evi-
dently drunk ; — ^nay, so much so as to have been quite
insensible when taken up, and I hear is still delirious —
whether with wine, terror, remorse, the Furies, or the
Bacchanals, I cannot say."
Poor fellow ! — ^he has good counsel ? "
The best — Caius PoUio, an eloquent fellow enough.
Pollio has been hiring all the poor gentlemen and well-
bom spendthrifts of Pompeii to dress shabbily and
sneak about, swearing their friendship to Glaucus
(who would not have spoken to them to be made
emperor! — I will do him justice, he was a gentleman
in his choice of acquaintance), and trying to melt the
stony citizens into pity. But it will not do; Isis is
mighty popular just at this moment."
" And, by the by, I have some merchandise at Alex-
andria. Yes, Isis ought to be protected."
"True; so farewell, old gentleman: we shall meet
soon ; if not, we must have a friendly bet at the Amphi-
theatre. All my calculations are confounded by this
cursed misfortune of Glaucus ! He had bet on Lydon
the gladiator; I must make up my tablets elsewhere.
Vale!"
Leaving the less active Diomed to regain his villa,
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 375
Clodius strode on, humming a Greek air, and perfum-
ing the night with the odours that steamed from his
snowy garments and flowing locks.
" If," thought he, " Glaucus feed the lion, Julia will
no longer have a person to love better than me; she
will certainly dote on me ; and so, I suppose, I must
marry. By the gods, the twelve lines begin to fail —
men look suspiciously at my hand when it rattles the
dice. That infernal Sallust insinuates cheating;
and if it be discovered that the ivory is cogged,
why, farewell to the merry supper and the per-
fumed billet; — Clodius is undone! Better marry,
then, while I may, renounce gaming, and push my
fortune (or rather the gentle Julia's) at the imperial
court."
Thus muttering the schemes of his ambition, if by
that high name the projects of Clodius may be called,
the gamester found himself suddenly accosted; he
turned and beheld the dark brow of Arbaces.
" Hail ! noble Clodius ! pardon my interruption ; and
inform me, I pray you, which is the house of Sallust."
" It is but a few yards hence, wise Arbaces. But
does Sallust entertain to-night ? "
" I know not," answered the Egyptian ; " nor am I,
perhaps, one of those whom he would seek as a boon
companion. But thou knowest that his house holds
the person of Glaucus, the murderer."
" Ay ! he, good-hearted epicure, believes in the
Greek's innocence ! You remind me that he has become
his surety; and, therefore, till the trial, is responsible
for his appearance.^ Well, Sallust's house is better
1 If a criminal could obtain surety (called vades in capital
offences), he was not compelled to lie in prison till after
sentence.
376 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
than a prison, especially that wretched hole in the
forum. But for what can you seek Glaucus ? "
" Why, noble Clodius, if we could save him from
execution it would be well. The condemnation of the
rich is a blow upon society itself. I should like to con-
fer with him — for I hear he has recovered his senses —
and ascertain the motives of his crime ; they may be so
extenuating as to plead in his defence."
" You are benevolent, Arbaces."
" Benevolence is the duty of one who aspires to wis-
dom," replied the Egyptian, modestly. " Which way
lies Sallust's mansion ? "
" I will show you," said Clodius, " if you will suffer
me to accompany you a few steps. But, pray, what has
become of the poor girl who was to have wed the Athe-
nian— the sister of the murdered priest ? "
" Alas ! well-nigh insane. Sometimes she utters im-
precations on the murderer — ^then Suddenly stops short
— then cries, * But why curse ? Oh, my brother ! Glau-
cus was not thy murderer — never will I believe it I *
Then she begins again, and again stops short, and mut-
ters awfully to herself, * Yet if it were indeed he ? ' "
" Unfortunate lone ! "
" But it is well for her that those solemn cares to the
dead which religion enjoins have hitherto greatly ab-
sorbed her attention from Glaucus and herself; and,
in the dimness of her senses, she scarcely seems aware
that Glaucus is apprehended and on the eve of trial.
When the funeral rites due to Apaecides are performed,
her apprehensions will return; and then I fear me
much that her friends will be revolted by seeing her run
to succour and aid the murderer of her brother ! "
Such scandal should be prevented."
I trust I have taken precautions to that effect. I
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 377
am her lawful guardian, and have just succeeded in ob-
taining permission to escort hfer, after the funeral of
Apaecides, to my own house; there, please the gods!
she will be secure.".
"You have done well, sage Arbaces. And, now,
yonder is the house of Sallust. The gods keep you!
Yet, hark you, Arbaces — why so gloomy and unsocial ?
Men say you can be gay — why not let me initiate you
into the pleasures of Pompeii? — I flatter myself no
one knows them better."
" I thank you, noble Clodius : under your auspices I
might venture, I think, to wear the philyra : but, at my
age, I should be an awkward pupil."
" Oh, never fear ; I have made converts of fellows of
seventy. The rich, too, are never old."
" You flatter me. At some future time I will remind'
you of your promise."
" You may command Marcus Clodius at all times ; —
and so vale!"
" Now," said the Egyptian, soliloquising, " I am not
wantonly a man of blood ; I would willingly save this
Greek, if, by confessing the crime, he will lose himself
for ever to lone, and for ever free me from the chance
of discovery; and I can save him by persuading Julia
to own the philtre, which will be held his excuse. But
if he do not confess the crime, why Julia must be
shamed from the confession, and he must die! — die,
lest he prove my rival with the living — die that he may
be my proxy with the dead ! Will he confess? — can he
not be persuaded that in his delirium he struck the
blow? To me it would give far greater safety than
even his death. Hem! we must hazard the experi-
ment."
Sweeping along the narrow street, Arbaces now ap-
378 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
preached the house of Sallust, when he beheld a dark
form wrapped in a cloak, and stretched at length across
the threshold of the door.
So still lay the figure and so dim was its outline that
any other than Arbaces might have felt a superstitious
fear, lest he beheld one of those grim lemures, who,
above all other spots, haunted the threshold of the
homes they formerly possessed. But not for Arbaces
were such dreams.
" Rise ! " said he, touching the figure with his foot ;
" thou obstructest the way I "
" Ha ! who art thou ? " cried the form, in a sharp
tone; and as she raised herself from the ground, the
starlight fell full on the pale face and fixed but sight-
less eyes of Nydia the Thessalian. " Who art thou ? I
know the burden of thy voice.'*
" Blind girl ! what dost thou here at this late hour ?
Fie ! — is this seeming thy sex or years ? Home, girl ! "
" I know thee," said Nydia, in a low voice, " thou
art Arbaces the Egyptian : " then, as if inspired by
some sudden impulse, she flung herself at his feet, and
clasping his knees, exclaimed, in a wild and passionate
tone, " Oh dread and potent man ! save him — save
him ! He is not guilty — it is I ! He lies within, ill,
dying, and I — I am the hateful cause ! And they will
not admit me to him — ^they spurn the blind girl from
the hall. Oh, heal him! thou knowest some herb —
some spell — some counter-charm, for it is a potion that
hath wrought this frenzy ! "
" Hush, child ! I know all ! — ^thou forgettest that I
accompanied Julia to the Saga's home. Doubtless her
hand administered the draught ; but her reputation de-
mands thy silence. Reproach not thyself — ^what must
be, must : meanwhile, I seek the criminal — ^he may yet
be saved. Away ! "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 379
Thus saying, Arbaces extricated himself from the
clasp of the despairing Thessalian, and knocked loudly
at the door.
In a few moments the heavy bars were heard sud-
denly to yield, and the porter, half opening the door,
demanded who was there.
" Arbaces — important business to Sallust relative to
Glaucus. I come from the praetor."
The porter, half yawning, half groaning, admitted
the tall form of the Egyptian. Nydia sprang forward.
How is he? " she cried ; " tell me — tell me ! "
Ho, mad girl ! is it thou still ? — for shame ! Why,
they say he is sensible."
" The gods be praised ! — and you will not admit me ?
Ah ! I beseech thee "
" Admit thee ! — no. A pretty salute I should pre-
pare for these shoulders were I to admit such things as
thou ! Go home ! "
The door closed, and Nydia, with a deep sigh, laid
herself down once more on the cold stones ; and, wrap-
ping her cloak round her face, resumed her weary vigil.
Meanwhile Arbaces had already gained the triclin-
ium, where Sallust, with his favourite freedman, sat
late at supper.
" What ! Arbaces ! and at this hour ! — Accept this
cup."
" Nay, gentle Sallust ; it is on business, not pleasure,
that I venture to disturb thee. How doth thy charge ?
— ^they say in the town that he has recovered sense."
*'Alas! and truly," replied the good-natured but
thoughtless Sallust, wiping the tear from his eyes;
"but so shattered are his nerves and frame that I
scarcely recognise the brilliant and gay carouser I was
wont to know. Yet, strange to say, he cannot account
38o THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
for the cause of the sudden frenzy that seized him —
he retains but a dim consciousness of what hath passed ;
and, despite thy witness, wise Egyptian, solemnly up-
holds his innocence of the death of Apaecides."
" Sallust," said Arbaces, gravely, " there is much in
thy friend's case that merits a peculiar indulgence ; and
could we learn from his lips the confession and the
cause of his crime, much might be yet hoped from the
mercy of the senate ; for the senate, thou knowest, hath
the power either to mitigate or to sharpen the law.
Therefore it is that I have conferred with the highest
authority of the city, and obtained his permission to
hold a private conference this night with the Athenian.
To-morrow, thou knowest, the trial comes on."
" Well," said Sallust, " thou wilt be worthy of thy
Eastern name and fame if thou canst learn aught from
him ; but thou mayst try. Poor Glaucus ! — and he had
such an excellent appetite ! He eats nothing now I "
The benevolent epicure was moved sensibly at this
thought. He sighed, and ordered his slaves to refill
his cup.
" Night wanes," said the Egyptian ; " suffer me to
see thy ward now."
Sallust nodded assent, and led the way to a small
chamber, guarded without by two dozing slaves. The
door opened ; at the request of Arbaces, Sallust with-
drew— the Egyptian was alone with Glaucus.
One of those tall and graceful candelabra common
to that day, supporting a single lamp, burned beside
the narrow bed. Its rays fell palely over the face of
the Athenian, and Arbaces was moved to see how sen-
sibly that countenance had changed. The rich colour
was gone, the cheek was sunk, the lips were convulsed
and pallid; fierce had been the struggle between rea-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 381
son and madness, life and death. The youth, the
strength of Glaucus had conquered ; but the freshness
of blood and soul — ^the life of life — its glory and its
zest, were gone for ever.
The Egyptian seated himself quietly beside the bed ;
Glaucus still lay mute and unconscious of his presence.
At length, after a considerable pause, Arbaces thus
spoke : —
" Glaucus, we have been enemies. I come to thee
alone and in the dead of night — ^thy friend, perhaps thy
saviour."
As the steed starts from the path of the tiger, Glau-
cus sprang up breathless — ^alarmed, panting at the ab-
rupt voice, the sudden apparition of his foe. Their
eyes met, and neither, for some moments, had power
to withdraw his gaze. The flush went and came over
the face of the Athenian, and the bronzed cheek of the
Egyptian grew a shade more pale. At length, with an
inward groan, Glaucus turned away, drew his hand
across his brow, sank back, and muttered —
" Am I still dreaming? "
" No, Glaucus, thou art awake. By this right hand
and my father's head, thou seestone who may save thy
life. Hark I I know what thou hast done, but I know
also its excuse, of which thou thyself art ignorant.
Thou hast committed murder, it is true — a sacrilegious
murder : frown not — start not — ^these eyes saw it. But
I can save thee — I can prove how thou wert bereaved
of sense, and made not a free-thinking and free-acting
man. But in order to save thee, thou must confess thy
crime. Sign but this paper, acknowledging thy hand
in the death of Apaecides, and thou shalt avoid the fatal
urn."
<(
What words are these ? — Murder and Apaecides ! —
382 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Did I not see him stretched on the ground bleeding and
a corpse ? and wouldst thou persuade me that / did the
deed ? Man, thou liest ! Away I "
" Be not rash — Glaucus, be not hasty ; the deed is
proved. Come, come, thou mayst well be excused for
not recalling the act of thy delirium, and which thy
sober senses would have shunned even to contemplate.
But let me try to refresh thy exhausted and weary
memory. Thou knowest thou wert walking with the
priest, disputing about his sister ; thou knowest he was
intolerant, and half a Nazarene, and he sought to con-
vert thee, and ye had hot words ; and he calumniated
thy mode of life, and swore he would not marry lone
to thee — and then, in thy wrath and thy frenzy, thou
didst strike the sudden blow. Come, come; you can
recollect this ! — read this papyrus, it runs to that effect
— sign it, and thou art saved."
" Barbarian, give me the written lie, that I may tear
it! / the murderer of Tone's brother! / confess to
have injured one hair of the head of him she loved!
Let me rather perish a thousand times ! "
Beware ! " said Arbaces, in a low and hissing tone ;
there is but one choice — ^thy confession and thy sig-
nature, or the amphitheatre and the lion's maw ! "
As the Egyptian fixed his eyes upon the sufferer, he
hailed with joy the signs of evident emotion that seized
the latter at these words. A slight shudder passed over
the Athenian's frame — his lip fell — ^an expression of
sudden fear and wonder betrayed itself in his brow and
eye.
" Great gods ! " he said, in a low voice, " what re-
verse is this ? It seems but a little day since life laughed
out from amidst roses — lone mine — youth, health, love,
feyishing pn me their treasures ; and now — pain, mad-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 383
ness, shame, death! And for what? What have I
done? Oh, I am mad still."
" Sign, and be saved ! '* said the soft, sweet voice of
the Egyptian.
" Tempter, never I " cried Glaucus, in the reaction of
rage. " Thou knowest me not : thou knowest not the
haughty soul of an Athenian! The sudden face of
death might appal me for a moment, but the fear is
over. Dishonour appals for ever! Who will debase
his name to save his life ? who exchange clear thoughts
for sullen days? who will belie himself to shame, and
stand blackened in the eyes of glory and of love? If
to earn a few years of polluted life there be so base a
coward, dream not, dull barbarian of Egypt! to find
him in one who has trod the same sod as Harmodius,
and breathed the same air as Socrates. Go ! leave me
to live without self-reproach — or to perish without
fear ! "
" Bethink thee well ! the lion's fangs : the hoots of
the brutal mob: the vulgar gaze on thy dying agony
and mutilated limbs; thy name degraded; thy corpse
unburied; the shame thou wouldst avoid clinging to
thee for aye and ever ! "
" Thou ravest ! thou art the madman I Shame is not
in the loss of other men's esteem, — it is in the loss of
our own. Wilt thou go ? — my eyes loathe the sight of
thee ! hating ever, I despise thee now ! "
" I go," said Arbaces, stung and exasperated, but
not without some pitying admiration of his victim, —
"J go ; we meet twice again — once at the Trial, once at
the Death! Farewell!"
The Egyptian rose slowly, gathered his robes about
him, and left the chamber. He sought Sallust for a
moment, whose eyes began to reel with the vigils of
384 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the cup : " He is still unconscious, or still obstinate ;
there is no hope for him."
" Say not so/* replied Sallust, who felt but little re-
sentment against the Athenian's accuser, for he pos-
sessed no great austerity of virtue, and was rather
moved by his friend's reverses than persuaded of his
innocence, — " say not so, my Egyptian ! so good a
drinker shall be saved if possible. Bacchus against
Isis ! "
" We shall see," said the Egyptian.
Suddenly the bolts were again withdrawn — ^the door
unclosed; Arbaces was in the open street; and poor
Nydia once more started from her long watch.
" Wilt thou save him ? " she cried, clasping her
hands.
" Child, follow me home ; I would speak to thee — it
is for his sake I ask it."
" And thou wilt save him ? "
No answer came forth to the thirsting ear of the
blind girl: Arbaces had already proceeded far up the
street; she hesitated a moment, and then followed his
steps in silence.
" I must secure this girl," said he, musingly, " lest
she give evidence of the philtre ; as to the vain Julia,
she will not betray herself."
CHAPTER VIII
A CLASSIC FUNERAL.
While Arbaces had been thus employed. Sorrow and
Death were in the house of lone. It was the night
preceding the mom in which the solemn funeral rites
were to be decreed to the remains of the murdered
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 385
Apaecides. The corpse had been removed from the
temple of Isis to the house of the nearest surviving
relative, and lone had heard, in the same breath, the
death of her brother and the accusation against her
betrothed. That first violent anguish which blunts the
sense to all but itself, and the forbearing silence of her
slaves, had prevented her learning minutely the cir-
cumstances attendant on the fate of her lover. His
illness, his frenzy, and his approaching trial were un-
known to her. She learned only the accusation against
him, and at once indignantly rejected it ; nay, on hear-
ing that Arbaces was the accuser, she required no
more to induce her firmly and solemnly to believe that
the Egyptian himself was the criminal. But the vast
and absorbing importance attached by the ancients to
the performance of every ceremonial connected with
the death of a relation, had, as yet, confined her woe
and her convictions to the chamber of the deceased.
Alas! it was not for her to perform that tender and
touching office which obliged the nearest relative to
endeavour to catch the last breath — the parting soul
— of the beloved one : but -it was hers to close the strain-
ing eyes, the distorted lips : to watch by the consecrated
clay, as, fresh bathed and anointed, it lay in festive
robes upon the ivory bed; to strew the couch with
leaves and flowers, and to renew the solemn cypress
branch at the threshold of the door. And in these sad
offices, in lamentation and in prayer, lone forgot her-
self. It was among the loveliest customs of the an-
cients to bury the young at the morning twilight ; for,
as they strove to give the softest interpretation to
death, so they poetically imagined that Aurora, who
loved the young, had stolen them to her embrace ; and
though in the instance of the murdered priest this fable
35
386 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
could not appropriately cheat the fancy^ the: general
custom was still preserved.
The stars were fading one by one from the grey
heavens, and night slowly receding before the approach
of mom, when a dark group stood motionless before
Tone's door. High and slender torches, made paler by
the unmellowed dawn, cast their light over various
countenances, hushed for the moment in one solemn
and intent expression. And now there arose a slow and
dismal music, which accorded sadly with the rite, and
floated far along the desolate and breathless streets;
while a chorus of female voices (the Praeficae so often
cited by the Roman poets), accompanying the Tibicen
and the Mysian flute, woke the following strain : —
THE FUNERAL DIRGE
" O'er the sad threshold, where the cypress bough
Supplants the rose that should adorn thy home,
On the last pilgrimage on earth that now
Awaits thee, wanderer to Cocytus, come !
Darkly we woo, and weeping we invite —
Death is thy host — ^his banquet asks thy soul,
Thy garlands hang within the House of Night,
And the black stream alone shall fill thy bowl.*
" No more for thee the laughter and the song,
The jocund night — the glory of the day!
The Argive daughters' at their labours long;
The hell-bird swooping on its Titan prey—
The false ^Eolides' upheaving slow,
O'er the eternal hill, the eternal stone;
The crowned Lydian,* in his parching woe,
And green Callirrhoe's monster-headed son.*
1 This was rather a Greek than a Roman custom ; but the
reader will observe that in the cities of Magna Graecia the
Greek customs and superstitions were much mingled with the
Roman.
• The Danaides. •Sisyphus. * Tantalus. •Geryon.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 387
" These shalt thou see, dim shadow'd through the dark
Which makes the sky of Pluto's dreary shore ;
Lo! where thou stand' st, pale-gazing on the bark,
That waits our rite^ to bear thee trembling o'er!
Come, then! no more delay — the phantom pines
Amidst the Unburied for its latest home;
O'er the grey sky the torch impatient shines —
Come, mourner, forth! — the lost one bids thee come."
As the hymn died away, the group parted in twain ;
and placed upon a couch, spread with a purple pall, the
corpse of Apaecides was carried forth, with the feet
foremost. The designator, or marshal of the sombre
ceremonial, accompanied by his torch-bearers, clad in
black, gave the signal, and the procession moved
dreadly on.
First went the musicians, playing a slow march —
the solemnity of the lower instruments broken by many
a louder and wilder burst of the funeral trumpet : next
followed the hired mourners, chanting their dirges to
the dead; and the female voices were mingled with
those of boys, whose tender years made still more
striking the contrast of life and death — ^the fresh leaf
and the withered one. But the players, the buffoons,
the archimimus (whose duty it was to personate the
dead) — ^these, the customary attendants at ordinary
funerals, were banished from a funeral attended with
so many terrible associations.
The priests of Isis came next in their snowy gar-
ments, barefooted, and supporting sheaves of corn;
while before the corpse were carried the images of the
deceased and his many Athenian forefathers. And
behind the bier followed, amidst her women, the sole
'The most idle novel-reader need scarcely be reminded, that
not till after the funeral rites were the dead carried over the
Styx.
388 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
surviving relative of the dead — her head bare, her
locks dishevelled, her face paler than marble, but com-
posed and still, save ever and anon, as some tender
thought, awakened by the music, flashed upon the dark
lethargy of woe, she covered that countenance with
her hands, and sobbed unseen: for hers were not the
noisy sorrow, the shrill lament, the ungoverned gesture,
which characterised those who honoured less faith-
fully. In that age, as in all, the channel of deep grief
flowed hushed and still.
And so the procession swept on, till it had traversed
the streets, passed the city gate, and gained the Place
of Tombs without the wall, which the traveller yet be-
holds.
Raised in the form of an altar — of unpolished pine,
amidst whose interstices were placed preparations of
combustible matter — stood the funeral pyre; and
around it drooped the dark and gloomy cypresses so
consecrated by song to the tomb.
As soon as the bier was placed upon the pile, the at-
tendants parting on either side, lone passed up to the
couch, and stood before the unconscious clay for some
moments motionless and silent. The features of the
dead had been composed from the first agonised ex-
pression of violent death. Hushed for ever the terror
and the doubt, the contest of passion, the awe of re-
ligion, the struggle of the past and present, the hope
and the horror of the future ! — of all that racked and
desolated the breast of that young aspirant to the Holy
of Life, what trace was visible in the awful serenity of
that impenetrable brow and unbreathing lip ? The sis-
ter gazed, and not a sound was heard amidst the crowd ;
there was something terrible, yet softening, also, in the
silence ; and when it broke, it broke sudden and abrupt
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 389
— it broke with a loud and passionate cry — ^the vent of
long-smothered despair.
" My brother! my brother! " cried the poor orphan,
falling upon the couch ; " thou whom the worm on thy
path feared not — what enemy couldst thou provoke?
Oh, is it in truth come to this ? Awake ! awake ! We
grew together ! Are we thus torn asunder? Thou art
not dead — thou sleepest. Awake ! awake I *'
The sound of her piercing voice aroused the sym-
pathy of the mourners, and they broke into loud and
rude lament. This startled, this recalled lone; she
looked up hastily and confusedly, as if for the first time
sensible of the presence of those around.
" Ah ! " she murmured with a shiver, " we are not
then alone! *'
With that, after a brief pause, she rose : and her pale
and beautiful countenance was again composed and
rigid. With fond and trembling hands, she unclosed
the lids of the deceased ; ^ but when the dull glazed eye,
no longer beaming with love and life, met hers, she
shrieked aloud, as if she had seen a spectre. Once
more recovering herself, she kissed again and again the
lids, the lips, the brow ; and with mechanic and uncon-
scious hand, received from the high priest of her
brother's temple the funeral torch.
The sudden burst of music, the sudden song of the
mourners, announced the birth of the sanctifying flame.
HYMN TO THE WIND
I.
" On thy couch of cloud reclined
Wake, O soft and sacred Wind!
Soft and sacred will we name thee,
Whosoe'er the sire that claim thee, —
1 Pliny, ii. 37.
390 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Whether old Auster's dusky child,
Or the loud son of Eurus wild ;
Or his^ who o'er the darkling deeps,
From the bleak North, in tempest sweeps
Still shalt thou seem as dear to us
As flowery-crowned Zephyrus,
When, through twilight's starry dew.
Trembling, he hastes his nymph ^ to woo.
II.
" Lo ! our silver censers swinging,
Perfumes o'er thy path are flinging, —
Ne'er o'er Tempe's breathless valleys,
Ne'er o'er Cypria's cedarn alleys.
Or the Rose-isle's* moonlit sea.
Floated sweets more worthy thee.
Lo! around our vases sending
Myrrh and Nard with cassia blending :
Paving air with odours meet.
For thy silver-sandall'd feet!
III.
" August and everlasting air !
The source of all that breathe and be,
From the mute clay before thee bear
The seeds it took from thee!
Aspire, bright Flame! aspire!
Wild wind! — awake, awake!
Thine own, O solemn Fire!
O Air, thine own retake !
IV.
" It comes ! it comes ! Lo ! it sweeps.
The Wind we invoke the while!
And crackles, and darts, and leaps
The light on the holy pile!
It rises! its wings interweave
With the flames, — ^how they howl and heave !
Toss'd, whirl'd to and fro,
How the flame-serpents glow !
1 Boreas. 2 Flora. » Rhodes.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 391
Rushing higher and higher,
On — on, fearful Fire!
Thy giant limbs twined
With the arms of the Wind!
Lo! the elements meet on the throne
Of death — to reclaim their own!
V.
Swing, swing the censer round —
Tune the strings to a softer sound!
From the chains of thy earthly toil,
From the clasp of thy mortal coil.
From the prison where clay confined thee,
The hands of the flame unbind thee !
O Soul ! thou art free — all free !
«
" As the winds in their ceaseless chase,
When they rush o'er their airy sea,
Thou mayst speed through the realms of space.
No fetter is forged for thee ! •
Rejoice! o'er the sluggard tide
Of the Styx thy bark can glide,
And thy steps evermore shall rove
Through the glades of the happy grove;
Where, far from the loath'd Cocytus,
The loved and the lost invite us.
Thou art slave to the earth no more!
O soul, thou art freed! — and we? —
Ah ! when shall our toil be o*er ?
Ah ! when shall we test with thee ? "
And now high and far into the dawning skies broke
the fragrant fire; it flushed luminously across the
gloomy cypresses — it shot above the massive walls of
the neighbouring city ; and the early fisherman started
to behold the blaze reddening on the waves of the creep-
ing sea.
But lone sat down apart and alone, and, leaning her
face upon her hands, saw not the flame nor heard the
392 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
lamentations or the music; she felt only one sense of
loneliness, — she had not yet arrived at that hallowing
sense of comfort, when we know that we are not alone
— ^that the dead are with us.
The breeze rapidly aided the effect of the combus-
tibles placed within the pile. By degrees the flame
wavered, lowered, dimmed, and slowly, by fits and un-
equal starts, died away — emblem of life itself; where,
just before, all was restlessness and flame, now lay the
dull and smouldering ashes.
The last sparks were extinguished by the attendants
— the embers were collected. Steeped in the rarest
wine and the costliest odours, the remains were placed
in a silver urn, which was solemnly stored in one of the
neighbouring sepulchres beside the road; and they
placed within it the vial full of tears, and the small coin
which poetry still consecrated to the grim boatman.
And the sepulchre was covered with flowers and chap-
lets, and incense kindled on the altar, and the tomb
hung round with many lamps.
But the next day, when the priest returned with fresh
offerings to the tomb, he found that to the relics of
heathen superstition some unknown hands had added
a green palm-branch. He suffered it to remain, un-
knowing that it was the sepulchral emblem of Chris-
tianity.
When the above ceremonies were over, one of the
Praeficae three times sprinkled the mourners from the
purifying branch of laurel, uttering the last word,
" I licet! " — Depart ! — and the rite was done.
But first they paused to utter — weepingly, and many
times — the affecting farewell, "Salve Eternum!"
And as lone yet lingered, they woke the parting strain.
«
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 393
SALVE ETERNUM
I.
Farewell! O soul departed!
Farewell! O sacred urn!
Bereaved and broken-hearted,
To earth the mourners turn!
To the dim and dreary shore,
Thou art gone our steps before!
But thither the swift Hours lead us,
And thou dost but a while precede us !
Salve — salve !
Loved urn, and thou solemn cell,
Mute ashes! — farewell, farewell!
Salve — ^salve !
II.
IHcet — ire licet —
Ah, vainly would we part!
Thy tomb is the faithful heart.
About evermore we bear thee;
For who from the heart can tear thee?
Vainly we sprinkle o'er us
The drops of the cleansing stream ;
And vainly bright before us
The lustral fire shall beam.
For where is the charm expelling
Thy thought from its sacred dwelling?
Our griefs are thy funeral feast,
And memory thy mourning priest.
Salve — salve !
III.
Ilicet — ire licet!
The spark from the hearth is gone
Wherever the air shall bear it;
The elements take their own —
The shadows receive thy spirit.
It will soothe thee to feel our grief.
As thou glid'st by the Gloomy River !
394 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
If love may in life be grief,
In death it is fix'd for ever.
Salve — salve I
In the hall which our feasts illume,
The rose for an hour may bloom;
But the cypress that decks the tomb^
The cypress is green for ever!
Salve — salve I "
CHAPTER IX
IN WHICH AN ADVENTURE HAPPENS TO lONE.
While some stayed behind to share with the priests
the funeral banquet, lone and her handmaids took
homeward their melancholy way. And now (the last
duties to her brother performed) her mind awoke
from its absorption, and she thought of her affianced,
and the dread charge against him. Not — ^as we have
before said — attaching even a momentary belief to the
unnatural accusation, but nursing the darkest suspicion
against Arbaces, she felt that justice to her lover and
to her murdered relative demanded her to seek the
praetor, and communicate her impression, unsupported
as it might be. Questioning her maidens, who had
hitherto — kindly anxious, as I have said, to save her
the additional agony — refrained from informing her of
the state of Glaucus, she learned that he had been dan-
gerously ill : that he was in custody, under the roof of
Sallust ; that the day of his trial was appointed.
" Averting gods ! " she exclaimed ; " and have I been
so long forgetful of him ? Have I seemed to shun him ?
O ! let me hasten to do him justice — to show that I, the
nearest relative of the dead, believe him innocent of the
charge. Quick! quick! let us fly. Let me soothe —
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 395
tend — cheer him! and if they will not believe me; if
they will not yield to my conviction ; if they sentence
him to exile or to death, let me share the sentence with
him ! "
Instinctively she hastened her pace, confused and
bewildered, scarce knowing whither she went ; now de-
signing first to seek the praetor, and now to rush to the
chamber of Glaucus. She hurried on — she pagsed the
gate of the city — she was in the long street leading up
the town. The houses were opened, but none were yet
astir in the streets ; the life of the city was scarce awake
— when lo! she came suddenly upon a small knot of
men standing beside a covered litter. A tall figure
stepped from the midst of them, and lone shrieked
aloud to behold Arbaces.
" Fair lone ! " said he gently, and appearing not to
heed her alarm ; " my ward, my pupil ! forgive me if I
disturb thy pious sorrows; but the praetor, solicitous
of thy honour, and anxious that thou mayst not rashly
be implicated in the coming trial ; knowing the strange
embarrassment of thy state (seeking justice for thy
brother, but dreading punishment to thy betrothed) —
sympathising, too, with thy unprotected and friendless
condition, and deeming it harsh that thou shouldst be
suffered to act unguided and mourn alone — hath wisely
and paternally confided thee to the care of thy lawful
guardian. Behold the writing which intrusts thee to
my charge ! "
" Dark Egyptian ! " cried lone, drawing herself
proudly aside ; " begone ! It is thou that hast slain my
brother ! Is it to thy care, thy hands yet reieking with
his blood, that they will give the sister? Ha! thou
tumest pale ! thy conscience smites thee ! thou tremblest
at the thunderbolt of the avenging god ! Pass on, and
leave me to my woe ! "
396 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Thy sorrows unstring thy reason, lone," said Ar-
baces, attempting in vain his usual calmness of tone.
" I forgive thee. Thou wilt find me now, as ever, thy
surest friend. But the public streets are not the fitting
place for us to confer — for me to console thee. Ap-
proach, slaves! Come, my sweet charge, the litter
awaits thee."
The amazed and terrified attendants gathered round
lone, and clung to her knees.
" Arbaces," said the eldest of the maidens, " this is
surely not the law ! For nine days after the funeral, is
it not written that the relatives of the deceased shall
not be molested in their homes, or interrupted in their
solitary grief ? "
" Woman ! " returned Arbaces, imperiously waving
his hand, " to place a ward under the roof of her guard-
ian is not against the funeral laws. I tell thee I have
the fiat of the praetor. This delay is indecorous. Place
her in the litter."
So saying, he threw his arms firmly found the
shrinking form of lone. She drew back, gazed earn-
estly in his face, and then burst into hysterical laugh-
ter:—
'* Ha, ha ! this is well — well ! Excellent guardian —
paternal law ! Ha, ha ! " And, startled herself at the
dread echo of that shrill and maddened laughter, she
sunk, as it died away, lifeless upon the ground. . . .
A minute more, and Arbaces had lifted her into the lit-
ter. The bearers moved swiftly on, and the unfortu-
nate lone was soon borne from the sight of her weeping
handmaids.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEIJ 397
CHAPTER X
WHAT BECOMES OF NYDIA IN THE HOUSE OF ARBACES.
— THE EGYPTIAN FEELS COMPASSION FOR GLAUCUS —
COMPASSION IS OFTEN A VERY USELESS VISITOR TO
THE GUILTY.
It Will be remembered that, at the command of Ar-
baces, Nydia followed the Egyptian to his home, and
conversing there with her, he learned from the confes-
sion of her despair and remorse, that her hand, and
not Julia's, had administered to Glaucus the fatal po-
tion. At another time the Egyptian might have con-
ceived a philosophical interest in sounding the depths
and origin of the strange and absorbing passion which,
in blindness and in slavery, this singular girl had dared
to cherish; but at present he spared no thought from
himself. As, after her confession, the poor Nydia
threw herself on her knees before him, and besought
him to restore the health and save the life of Glaucus
— for in her youth and ignorance she imagined the dark
magician all-powerful to effect both — Arbaces, with
unheeding ears, was noting only the new expediency of
detaining Nydia a prisoner until the trial and fate of
Glaucus were decided. For if when he judged her
merely the accomplice of Julia in obtaining the philtre,
he had felt it was dangerous to the full success of his
vengeance to allow her to be at large — to appear, per-
haps, as a witness — to avow the manner in which the
sense of Glaucus had been darkened, and thus win in-
dulgence to the crime of which he was accused — how
much more was she likely to volunteer her testimony
when she herself had administered the draught, and,
398 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
inspired by love, would be only anxious, at any ex-
pense of shame, to retrieve her error and preserve her
beloved? Besides, how unworthy of the rank and re-
pute of Arbaces to be implicated in the disgrace of
pandering to the passion of Julia, and assisting in the
unholy rites of the Saga of Vesuvius ! Nothing less,
indeed, than his desire to induce Glaucus to own the
murder of Apaecides, as a policy evidently the best both
for his own permanent safety and his successful suit
with lone, could ever have led him to contemplate the
confession of Julia.
As for Nydia, who was necessarily cut off by her
blindness from much of the knowledge of active life,
and who, a slave and a stranger, was naturally ignorant
of the perils of the Roman law, she thought rather of
the illness and delirium of her Athenian, than the crime
of which she had vaguely heard him accused, or the
chances of the impending trial. Poor wretch that she
was, who none addressed, none cared for, what did she
know of the senate and the sentence — the hazard of the
law, the ferocity of the people — the arena and the lion's
den? She was accustomed only to associate with the
thought of Glaucus everything that was prosperous
and lofty — she could not imagine that any peril, save
from the madness of her love, could menace that sacred
head. He seemed to her set apart for the blessings of
life. She only had disturbed the current of his felicity ;
she knew not, she dreamed not, that the stream, once
so bright, was dashing on to darkness and to death. It
was therefore to restore the brain that she had marred,
to save the life that she had endangered, that she im-
plored the assistance of the great Egyptian.
" Daughter," said Arbaces, waking from his reverie,
" thou must rest here ; it is not meet for thee to wander
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 399
along the streets, and be spurned from the threshold by
the rude feet of slaves. I have compassion on thy soft
crime — I will do all to remedy it. Wait here patiently
for some days, and Glaucus shall be restored." So
saying, and without waiting for her reply, he hastened
from the room, drew the bolt across the door, and con-
signed the care and wants of his prisoner to the slave
who had the charge of that part of the mansion.
Alone, then, and musingly, he waited the morning
light, and with it repaired, as we have seen, to possess
himself of the person of lone.
His primary object, with respect to the unfortunate
Neapolitan, was that which he had really stated to Clo>
dius, viz. to prevent her interesting herself actively in
the trial of Glaucus, and also to guard against her ac-
cusing him (which she would, doubtless, have done)
of his former act of perfidy and violence towards
her, his ward — denouncing his causes for vengeance
against Glaucus — unveiling the hypocrisy of his char-
acter— ^and casting any doubt upon his veracity in the
charge which he had made against the Athenian. Not
till he had encountered her that morning — not till he
had heard her loud denunciations — was he aware that
he had also another danger to apprehend in her sus-
picion of his crime. He hugged himself now in the
thought that these ends were effected : that one, at once
the object of his passion and his fear, was in his power.
He believed more than ever the flattering promises of
the stars ; and when he sought lone in that chamber in
the inmost recesses of his mysterious mansion to which
he had consigned her — when he found her overpowered
by blow upon blow, and passing from fit to fit, from
violence to torpor, in all the alternations of hysterical
disease — he thought more of the loveliness which no
400 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
frenzy could distort than of the woe which he had
brought upon her. In that sanguine vanity common
to men who through life have been invariably success-
ful, whether in fortune, or love, he flattered himself
that when Glaucus had perished — when his name was
solemnly blackened by the award of a legal judgment,
his title to her love for ever forfeited by condemna-
tion to death for the murder of her own brother — her
affection would be changed to horror ; and that his ten-
derness and his passion, assisted by all the arts with
which he well knew how to dazzle woman's imagina-
tion, might elect him to that throne in her heart from
which his rival would be so awfully expelled. This
was his hope : but should it fail, his unholy and fervid
passion whispered, " At the worst, now she is in my
power."
Yet, withal, he felt that uneasiness and apprehen-
sion which attend upon the chance of detection, even
when the criminal is insensible to the voice of con-
science— ^that vague terror of the consequences of
crime, which is often mistaken for remorse at the crime
itself. The buoyant air of Campania weighed heavily
upon his breast ; he longed to hurry from a scene where
danger might not sleep eternally with the dead ; and,
having lone now in his possession, he secretly resolved,
as soon as he had witnessed the last agony of his rival,
to transport his wealth — and her, the costliest treasure
of all, to some distant shore.
" Yes," said he, striding to and fro his solitary cham-
ber— " yes, the law that gave me the person of my
ward gives me the possession of my bride. Far across
the broad main will we sweep on our search after novel
luxuries and inexperienced pleasures. Cheered by my
stars, supported by the omens of my soul, we will pene-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 401
trate to those vast and glorious worlds which my wis-
dom tells me lie yet untracked in the recesses of the
circling sea. There may this heart, possessed of love,
grow once more alive to ambition — there, amongst na-
tions uncrushed by the Roman yoke, and to whose ear
the name of Rome has not yet been wafted, I may
found an empire, and transplant my ancestral creed
renewing the ashes of the dead Theban rule : continu-
ing in yet grander shores the dynasty of my crowned
fathers, and waking in the noble heart of lone the
grateful consciousness that she shares the lot of one
who, far from the aged rottenness of this slavish civil-
isation, restores the primal elements of greatness, and
unites in one mighty soul the attributes of the prophet
and the king."
From this exultant soliloquy, Af baces was awakened
to attend the trial of the Athenian.
The worn and pallid cheek of his victim touched him
less than the firmness of his nerves and the dauntless- *
ness of his brow ; for Arbaces was one who had little
pity for what was unfortunate, but a strong sympathy .
for what was bold. The congenialities that bind us to
others ever assimilate to the qualities of our own na-
ture. The hero weeps less at the reverses of his enemy
than at the fortitude with which he bears them. All of
us are human, and Arbaces, criminal as he was, had
his share of our common feelings and our mother clay.
Had he but obtained from Glaucus the written confes-
sion of his crime, which would, better than even the
judgment of others, have lost him with lone, and re-
moved from Arbaces the chance of future detection,
the Egyptian would have strained every nerve to save
his rival. Even now his hatred was over — his- desire
of revenge was slaked : he crushed his prey, not in en-
26
402 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
mity, but as an obstacle in his path. Yet was he not
the less resolved, the less crafty and persevering, in the
course he pursued, for the destruction of one whose
doom was become necessary to the attainment of his
objects ; and while, with apparent reluctance and com-
passion, he gave against Glaucus the evidence which
condemned him, he secretly, and through the medium
of the priesthood, fomented that popular indignation
which made an effectual obstacle to the pity of the sen-
ate. He had sought Julia ; he had detailed to her the
confession of Nydia; he had easily, therefore, lulled
any scruple of conscience which might have led her to
extenuate the offence of Glaucus by avowing her share
in his frenzy ; and the more readily, for her vain heart
had loved the fame and the prosperity of Glaucus —
not Glaucus himself; she felt no affection for a dis-
graced man — nay, she almost rejoiced in the disgrace
that humbled the hated lone. If Glaucus could not be
her slave, neither could he be the adorer of her rival.
This was sufficient consolation for any regret at his
fate. Volatile and fickle, she began again to be moved
by the sudden and earnest suit of Clodius, and was not
willing to hazard the loss of an alliance with that base
but high-born noble by any public exposure of her past
weakness and immodest passion for another. All
things then smiled upon Arbaces — all things frowned
upon the Athenian.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 403
CHAPTER XI
NYDIA AFFECTS THE SORCERESS.
%
When the Thessalian found that Arbaces returned to
her no more — ^when she was left, hour after hour, to
all the torture of that miserable suspense which was
rendered by blindness doubly intolerable, she began,
with outstretched arms, to feel around her prison for
some channel of escape ; and finding the only entrance
secure, she called aloud, and with the vehemence of a
temper naturally violent, and now sharpened by im-
patient agony.
" Ho, girl ! " said the slave in attendance, opening
the door, " art thou bit by a scorpion ? or thinkest thou
that we are dying of silence here, and only to be pre-
served, like the infant Jupiter, by a hullaballoo ? "
" Where is thy master ? and wherefore am I caged
here ? I want air and liberty : let me go forth ! "
" Alas ! little one, hast thou not seen enough of Ar-
baces to know that his will is imperial? He hath or-
dered thee to be caged ; and caged thou art, and I am
thy keeper. Thou canst not have air and liberty ; but
thou mayst have what are much better things — food
and wine."
Proh Jupiter ! " cried the girl, wringing her hands ;
and why am I thus imprisoned ? What can the great
Arbaces want with so poor a thing as I am ? "
" That I know not, unless it be to attend on thy new
mistress, who has been brought hither this day."
"What! lone here?"
" Yes, poor lady ! she liked it little, I fear. Yet, by
the Temple of Castor ! Arbaces is a gallant man to the
women. Thv ladv is his ward, thou knowest."
it
404 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Wilt thou take me to her? "
" She is ill — frantic with rage and spite. Besides, I
have no orders to do so ; and I never think for myself.
When Arbaces made me slave of these chambers/ he
said, * I have but one lesson to give thee ; — while thou
servest me thou must have neither ears, eyes, nor
thought ; thou must be but one quality — obedience."
" But what harm is there in seeing lone ? "
" That I know not ; but if thou wantest a companion,
I am willing to talk to thee, little one, for I am solitary
enough in my dull cubiculum. And, by the way,
thou art Thessalian — knowest thou not some cunning
amusement of knife and shears, some pretty trick of
telling fortunes, as most of thy race do, in order to pass
the time ? "
** Tush, slave, hold thy peace ! or, if thou wilt speak,
what hast thou heard of the state of Glaucus ? "
" Why, my master has gone to the Athenian's trial ;
Glaucus will smart for it ! "
"For what?"
" The murder of the priest Apaecides."
" Ha ! " said Nydia, pressing her hands to her fore-
head ; " something of this I have indeed heard, but un-
derstand not. Yet, who will dare to touch a hair of his
head?"
That will the lion, I fear."
Averting gods ! what wickedness dost thou utter? "
" Why, only that, if he be found guilty, the lion, or
maybe the tiger, will be his executioner."
Nydia leaped up, as if an arrow had entered her
heart; she uttered a piercing scream ;^then, falling be-
fore the feet of the slave, she cried, in a tone that melted
even his rude heart, —
1 In the houses of the great, each suite of chambers had its
peculiar slave.
«
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 405
"Ah! tell me thou jestest — ^thou utterest not the
truth — speak, speak ! "
" Why, by my faith, blind girl, I know nothing of the
law; it may not be so bad as I say. But Arbaces is his
accuser, and the people desire a victim for the arena.
Cheer thee ! But what hath the fate of the Athenian
to do with thine ? "
" No matter, no matter — ^he has been kind to me :
thou knowest not, then, what they will do ? Arbaces
his accuser ! O fate ! The people — the people ! Ah !
they can look upon his face — who will be cruel to the
Athenian ! — Yet was not Love itself cruel to him ? "
So saying, her head drooped upon her bosom: she
sunk into silence; scalding tears flowed down her
cheeks; and all the kindly efforts of the slave were
unable either to console her or distract the absorption
of her reverie.
When his household cares obliged the ministrant to
leave her room, Nydia began to recollect her thoughts.
Arbaces was the accuser of Glaucus ; Arbaces had im-
prisoned her here; was not that a proof that her lib-
erty might be serviceable to Glaucus? Yes, she was
evidently inveigled into some snare ; she was contribut-
ing to the destruction of her beloved? Oh, how she
panted for release ! Fortunately, for her sufferings, all
sense of pain became merged in the desire to escape;
and as she began to resolve the possibility of deliver-
ance, she grew calm and thoughtful. She possessed
much of the craft of her sex, and it had been increased
in her breast by her early servitude. What slave was
ever destitute of cunning? She resolved to practise
upon her keeper; and, calling suddenly to mind his
superstitious query as to her Thessalian art, she hoped
by that handle to work out some method of release.
4o6 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
These doubts occupied her mind during the rest of
the day and the long hours of night ; and, accordingly,
when Sosia visited her the following morning, she
hastened to divert his garrulity into that channel in
which it had before evinced a natural disposition to
flow.
She was aware, however, that her only chance of
escape was at night ; and accordingly she was obliged,
with a bitter pang at the delay, to defer till then her
purposed attempt.
" The night," said she, " is the sole time in which we
can well decipher decrees of Fate — then it is thou
must seek me. But what desirest thou to learn ? "
" By Pollux ! I should like to know as much as my
master ; but that is not to be expected. Let me know,
at least, whether I shall save enough to purchase my
freedom, or whether this Egyptian will give it me for
nothing. He does such generous things sometimes.
Next, supposing that be true, shall I possess myself
of that snug taberna among the Myropolia,^ which I
have long had in my eye ? 'Tis a genteel trade that of
a perfumer, and suits a retired slave who has some-
thing of a gentleman about him ! "
" Ay ! so you would have precise answers to those
questions ? — ^there are various ways of satisfying you.
There is the Lithomanteia, or Speaking-stone, which
answers your prayer with an infant's voice ; but, then,
we have not that precious stone with us — costly is it
and rare. Then there is the Gastromanteia, whereby
the demon casts pale and deadly images upon water,
prophetic of the future. But this art requires also
glasses of a peculiar fashion, to contain the conse-
crated liquid, which we have not. I think, therefore,
^ The shops of the perfumers.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 407
that the simplest method of satisfying your desire
would be by the Magic of Air."
" I trust/' said Sosia, tremulously, ** that there is
nothing very frightful in the operation? I have no
love for apparitions."
" Fear not ; thou wilt see nothing ; thou wilt only
hear by the bubbling of water whether or not thy suit
prospers. First, then, be sure, from the rising of the
evening star, that thou leavest the garden-gate some-
what open, so that the demon may feel himself invited
to enter therein ; and place fruits and water near the
gate as a sign of hospitality ; then, three hours after
twilight come here with a bowl of the coldest and
purest water, and thou shalt learn all, according to the
Thessalian lore my mother taught me. But forget not
the garden-gate — ^all rests upon that : it must be open
when you come, and for three hours previously."
" Trust me," replied the unsuspecting Sosia ; " I
know what a gentleman's feelings are when a door is
shut in his face, as the cook-shops hath been in mine
many a day ; and I know also, that a person of respec-
tability, as a demon of course is, cannot but be
pleased, on the other hand, with any little mark of
courteous hospitality. Meanwhile, pretty one, here is
thy morning's meal."
" And what of the trial ? "
" Oh, the lawyers are still at it — talk, talk — it will
last over till to-morrow."
" To-morrow ? — ^you are sure of that ? "
" So I hear."
" And lone ? "
" By Bacchus ! she must be tolerably well, for she
was strong enough to make my master stamp and bite
his lip this morning. I saw him quit her apartment
with a brow like a thunderstorm."
4o8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Lodges she near this? "
" No — in the upper apartments. But I must not
stay prating here longer. — Vale! "
CHAPTER XII
A WASP VENTURES INTO THE SPIDER^S WEB.
The second night of the trial had set in ; and it was
nearly the time in which Sosia was to brave the dread
Unknown, when there entered, at that very garden-
gate which the slave had left ajar — not, indeed, one
of the mysterious spirits of earth or air, but the heavy
and most human form of Calenus, the priest of Isis.
He scarcely noted the humble offerings of indifferent
fruit, and still more indifferent wine, which the pious
Sosia had deemed good enough for the invisible
stranger they were intended to allure. " Some trib-
ute," thought he, " to the garden god. By my father's
head! if his deityship were never better served, he
would do well to give up the godly profession. Ah,
were it not for us priests, the gods would have a sad
time of it. And now for Arbaces — I am treading a
quicksand, but it ought to cover a mine. I have the
Egyptian's life in my power — what will he value it
at?"
As he thus soliloquised, he crossed through the
open court into the peristyle, where a few lamps here
and there broke upon the empire of the starlit night ;
and, issuing from one of the chambers that bordered
the colonnade, suddenly encountered Arbaces.
" Ho ! Calenus — seekest thou me ? " said the Egyp-
tian ; and there was a Httle embarrassment in his voice.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 409
" Yes, wise Arbaces — I trust my visit is not unsea-
sonable ? "
" Nay — it was but this instant that my freedman
Callias sneezed thrice at my right hand; I knew,
therefore, some good fortune was in store for me —
and, lo ! the gods have sent me Calenus."
' " Shall we within to vour chamber, Arbaces ? "
" As you will ; but the night is clear and balmy — I
have some remains of languor yet lingering on me
from my recent illness — the air refreshes me — let us
walk in the garden — we are equally alone there."
" With all my heart," answered the priest ; and the
two friends passed slowly to one of the many terraces
which, bordered by marble vases and sleeping flowers,
intersected the garden.
*' It is a lovely night," — said Arbaces — " blue and
beautiful as that on which, twenty years ago, the
shores of Italy first broke upon my view. My Ca-
lenus, age creeps upon us — let us, at least, feel that we
have lived."
" Thou, at least, mayst arrogate that boast," said
Calenus; beating about, as it were, for an opportunity
to communicate the secret which weighed upon him,
and feeling his usual awe of Arbaces still more im-
pressively that night, from the quiet and friendly tone
of dignified condescension which the Egyptian as-
sumed— " thou, at least, mayst arrogate that boast.
Thou hast had countless wealth — a frame on whose
close-woven fibres disease can find no space to enter
— ^prosperous love — inexhaustible pleasure — and, even
at this hour, triumphant revenge."
" Thou alludest to the Athenian. Ay, to-morrow's
sun the fiat of his death will go forth. The senate does
not relent. But thou mistakest: his death gives me
4IO THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
no other gratification than that it releases me from a
rival in the affections of lone. I entertain no other
sentiment of animosity against that unfortunate homi-
cide."
" Homicide ! " repeated Calenus, slowly and mean-
ingly ; and, halting as he spoke, he fixed his eyes upon
Arbaces. The stars shone pale and steadily on the
proud face of their prophet, but they betrayed there
no change : the eyes of Calenus fell disappointed and
abashed. He continued rapidly — " Homicide ! it is
well to charge him with that crime ; but thou, of all
men, knowest that he is innocent."
" Explain thyself," said Arbaces, coldly ; for he had
prepared himself for the hint his secret fears had fore-
told.
"Arbaces," answered Calenus, sinking his voice
into a whisper, " I was in the sacred grove, sheltered
by the chapel and the surrounding foliage. I over-
heard— I marked the whole. I saw thy weapon pierce
the heart of Apaecides. I blame not the deed — it de-
stroyed a foe and an apostate."
" Thou sawest the whole ! " said Arbaces, drily ;
" so I imagined — thou wert alone ? "
" Alone ! " returned Calenus, surprised at the Egyp-
tian's calmness.
"And wherefore wert thou hid behind the chapel
at that hour ? "
" Because I had learned the conversion of Apaecides
to the Christian faith — because I knew that on that
spot he was to meet the fierce Olinthus — because they
were to meet there to discuss plans for unveiling the
sacred mysteries of our goddess to the people — and I
was there to detect, in order to defeat them."
" Hast thou told living ear what thou didst wit-
ness ? "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 411
" No, my master ; the secret is locked in thy ser-
vant's breast."
"What! even thy kinsman Burbo guesses it not?
Come, the truth ! "
" By the gods "
" Hush ! we know each other — what are the gods to
us?"
" By the fear of thy vengeance, then, — no ! "
" And why hast thou hitherto concealed from me
this secret ? Why hast thou waited till the eve of the
Athenian's condemnation before thou hast ventured
to tell me that Arbaces is a murderer? And, having
tarried so long, why revealest thoU now that knowl-
edge ? "
" Because — ^because " stammered Calenus, col-
ouring and in confusion.
" Because," interrupted Arbaces, with a gentle
smile and tapping the priest on the shoulder with a
kindly and familiar gesture — " because, my Calenus
(see now, I will read thy heart, and explain its mo-
tives)— ^because thou didst wish thoroughly to com-
mit and entangle me in the trial, so that I might have
no loophole of escape ; that I might stand firmly
pledged to perjury and to malice, as well as to homi-
cide ; that having myself whetted the appetite of the
populace to blood, no wealth, no power, could pre-
vent my becoming their victim; and thou tellest me
thy secret now, ere the trial be over and the innocent
condemned, to show what a desperate web of villany
thy word to-morrow could destroy ; to enhance in this,
the ninth hour, the price of thy forbearance ; to show
that my own arts, in arousing the popular wrath,
would, at thy witness, recoil upon myself ; and that, if
not for Glaucus, for me would gape the jaws of the
lion ! Is it not so ? "
412 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
' " Arbaces," replied Calenus, losing all the vulgar
audacity of his natural character, "verily thou art a
Magian ; thou readest the heart as it were a scroll."
" It is my vocation/' answered the Egyptian, laugh-
ing gently. " Well, then, forbear ; and when all is
over, I will make thee richi"
" Pardon me,'* said the priest, as the quick sugges-
tion of that avarice, which was his master-passion,
bade him trust no future chance of generosity ; " par-
don me ; thou saidst right — we know each other. If
thou wouldst have me silent, thou must pay some-
thing in advance, as an offer to Harpocrates.^ If the
rose, sweet emblem of discretion, is to take root
firmly, water her this night with a stream of gold."
" Witty and poetical ! " answered Arbaces, still in
that bland voice which lulled and encouraged, when it.
ought to have alarmed and checked, his griping com-
rade. " Wilt thou not wait the morrow? "
" Why this delay ? Perhaps, when I can no longer
give my testimony without shame for not having
given it ere the innocent man suffered, thou wilt for-
get my claim ; and, indeed, thy present hesitation is
a bad omen of thy future gratitude."
" Well, then, Calenus, what wouldst thou have me
pay thee ? "
" Thy life is very precious, and thy wealth is very
great," returned the priest, grinning.
" Wittier and more witty. But speak out — what
shall be the sum ? "
" Arbaces, I have heard that in thy secret treasury
below, beneath those rude Oscan arches which prop
thy stately halls, thou hast piles of gold, of vases, and
of jewels, which might rival the receptacles of the
^ The god of silence.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 413
wealth of the deified Nero. Thou mayst easily spare
out of those piles enough to make Calenus among the
richest priests of Pompeii, and yet not miss the loss."
" Come, Calenus," said Arbaces, winningly, and
with a frank and generous air, " thou art an old friend,
and hast been a faithful servant. Thou canst have no
wish to take away my life, nor Ta desire to stint thy
reward: thou shalt descend with me to that treasury
thou referrest to, thou shalt feast thine eyes with the
blaze of uncounted gold and the sparkle of priceless
gems ; and thou shalt, for thy own reward, bear away
with thee this night as much as thou canst conceal be-
neath thy robes. Nay, when thou hast once seen
what thy friend possesses, thou wilt learn how foolish
it would be to injure one who has so much to bestow.
When Glaucus is no more, thou shalt pay the treasury
another visit. Speak I frankly and as a friend?"
" Oh, greatest, best of men ! " cried Calenus, almost
weeping with joy, " canst thou thus forgive my in-
jurious doubts of thy justice, thy generosity?"
" Hush ! one other turn, and we will descend to the
Oscan arches."
CHAPTER XIII
THE SLAVE CONSULTS THE ORACLE. — ^THEY WHO BLIND
THEMSELVES THE BLIND MAY FOOL. — ^TWO NEW PRIS-
ONERS MADE IN ONE NIGHT.
Impatiently Nydia awaited the arrival of the no less
anxious Sosia. Fortifying his courage by plentiful
potations of a better liquor than that provided for the
demon, the credulous ministrant stole into the blind
girl's chamber.
414 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Well, Sosia, and art thou prepared ? Hast thou
the bowl of pure water ? "
** Verily, yes : but I tremble a little. You are sure
I shall not see the demon ? I have heard that these
gentlemen are by no means of a handsome person or
a civil demeanour."
" Be assured ! And hast thou left the garden-gate
gently open ? "
" Yes ; and placed some beautiful nuts and apples
on a little table close by."
" That's well. And the gate is open now, so that
the demon may pass through it ? "
" Surely it is."
" Well, then, open this door ; there — ^leave it just
ajar. And now, Sosia, give me the lamp."
" What, you will not extinguish it? "
" No ; but I must breathe my spell over its ray.
There is a spirit in fire. Seat thyself."
The slave obeyed; and Nydia, after bending for
some moments silently over the lamp, rose, and in a
low voice chanted the following rude
INVOCATION TO THE SPECTRE OF THE AIR
" Loved alike by Air and Water
Aye must be Thessalia's daughter;
To us, Olympian hearts, are given
Spells that draw the moon from heaven.
All that Egypt's learning wrought —
All that Persia's Magian taught —
Won from song, or wrung from flowers,
Or whisper'd low by fiend — are ours.
if
Spectre of the viewless air!
Hear the blind Thessalian's prayer!
By Erictho's art, that shed
Dews of life when life was fled: —
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 415
By lone Ithaca's wise king,
Who could wake the crystal spring
To the voice of prophecy;
By the lost Eurydice,
Summoned from the shadowy throng
At the muse-son* s magic song —
By the Colchian's awful charms
When fair-haired Jason left her arms; —
Spectre of the airy halls,
One who owns thee duly calls I
Breathe along the brimming bowl
And instruct the fearful soul
In the shadowy things that lie
Dark in dim futurity.
Come, wild' demon of the air,
Answer to thy votary's prayer!
Come! oh, come!
" And no god on heaven or earth —
Not the Paphian Queen of Mirth,
Nor the vivid Lord of Light,
Nor the triple Maid of Night,
Nor the Thunderer's self shall be
Blest and honoured more than thee!
Come ! oh, come ! "
" The spectre is certainly coming," said Sosia. " I
feel him running along my hair ! "
" Place thy bowl of water on the ground. Now,
then, give me thy napkin, and let me fold up thy face
and eyes."
" Ay ! that's always the custom with these charms.
Not so tight, though : gently — gently ! "
" There — thou canst not see ? "
" See, by Jupiter ! No ! nothing but darkness."
"Address, then, to the spectre whatever question
thou wouldst ask him, in a low-whispered voice three
times. If thy question is answered in the affirmative,
thou wilt hear the water ferment and bubble before
4i6 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the demon breathes upon it; if in the negative, the
water will be silent."
" But you will not play any trick with the water,
eh?"
" Let me place the bowl under thy feet — so. Now
thou wilt perceive that I cannot touch it without thy
knowledge."
" Very fair. Now, then, O Bacchus ! befriend me.
Thou knowest that I have always loved thee better
than all the other gods, and I will dedicate to thee
that silver cup I stole last year from the burly carptor
(butler), if thou wilt but befriend me with this water-
loving demon. And thou, O Spirit! listen and hear
me. Shall I be enabled to purchase my freedom next
year? Thou knowest; for, as thou livest in the air,
the birds ^ have doubtless acquainted thee with every
secret of this house — thou knowest that I have filched
and pilfered all that I honestly — that is, safely — could
lay finger upon for the last three years, and I yet want
two thousand sesterces of the full sum. Shall I be
able, O good Spirit! to make up the deficiency in
the course of this year? Speak — Ha ! does the water
bubble ? No ; all is as still as a tomb. — Well, then, if
not this year, in two years ? — Ah ! I hear something ;
the demon is scratching at the door ; he'll be here pres-
ently.— In two years, my good fellow: come now,
two; that's a very reasonable time. What! dumb
still ! Two years and a half — three — four ? Ill fortune
to you, friend demon ! You are no lady, that's clear,
or you would not keep silence so long. Five — six —
sixty years? and may Pluto seize you! I'll ask no
^ Who are supposed to know all secrets. The same super-
stition prevails in the east, and is not without example, also,
in our northern legends.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 417
more." And Sosia, in a rage, kicked down the water
over his legs. He then, after much fumbling, and
more cursing, managed to extricate his head from the
napkin in which it was completely folded — stared
round — and discovered that he was in the dark.
" What ho ! Nydia ; the lamp is gone. Ah, traitress ;
and thou art gone too ; but Fll catch thee — thou shalt
smart for this ! *'
The slave groped his way to the door ; it was bolted
from without: he was a prisoner instead of Nydia.
What could he do? He did not dare to knock loud
— to call out — ^lest Arbaces should overhear him, and
discover how he had been duped; and Nydia, mean-
while, had probably already gaiAed the garden-gate
and was fast on her escape.
" But," thought he, " she will go home, or at least
be somewhere in the city. To-morrow, at dawn,
when the slaves are at work in the peristyle, I can
make myself heard ; then I can go forth and seek her.
I shall be sure to find and bring her back before Ar-
baces knows a word of the matter. Ah ! that's the best
plan. Little traitress, my fingers itch at thee: and to
leave only a bowl of water, too ! Had it been wine,
it would have been some comfort."
While Sosia, thus entrapped, was lamenting his
fate, and revolving his schemes to repossess himself
of Nydia, the blind girl, with that singular precision
and dexterous rapidity of motion, which, we have be-
fore observed, was peculiar to her, had passed lightly
along the peristyle, threaded the opposite passage
that led into the garden, and, with a beating heart,
was about to proceed towards the gate, when she sud-
denly heard the sound of approaching steps, and dis-
tinguished the dreaded voice of Arbaces himself. She
27
418 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
paused for a moment in doubt and terror, then sud-
denly it flashed across her recollection that there was
another passage which was little used except for the
admission of the fair partakers of the Egyptian's se-
cret revels, and which wound along the basement of
that massive fabric towards a door which also com-
municated with the garden. By good fortune it might
be open. At that thought she hastily retraced her
steps, descended the narrow stairs at the right, and
was soon at the entrance of the passage. Alas! the
door at the entrance was closed and secured. While
she was yet assuring herself that it was indeed locked,
she heard behind her the voice of Calenus, and, a mo-
ment after, that of Arbaces in low reply. She could
not stay there; they were probably passing to this
very door. She sprang onward, and felt herself in
unknown ground. The air grew damp and chill ; this
reassured her. She thought she might be among the
cellars of the luxurious mansion, or, at least, in some
rude spot not likely to be visited by its haughty lord,
when again, her quick ear caught steps and the sound
of voices. On, on, she hurried, extending her arms,
which now frequently encountered pillars of thick and
massive form. With a tact, doubled in acuteness by
her fear, she escaped these perils, and continued her
way, the air growing more and more damp as she
proceeded; yet, still, as she ever and anon paused for
breath, she heard the advancing steps and the indis-
tinct murmur of voices. At length she was abruptly
stopped by a wall that seemed the limit of her path.
Was there no spot in which she could hide ? No aper-
ture ? no cavity ? There was none I She stopped, and
wrung her hands in despair ; then again nerved as the
voices neared upon her, sh^ hurried on by the side of
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 419
the wall ; and coming suddenly against one of the sharp
buttresses that here and there jutted boldly forth, she
fell to the ground. Though much bruised, her senses
did not leave her ; she uttered no cry ; nay, she hailed
the accident that had led her to something like a
screen ; and creeping close up to the angle formed by
the buttress, so that on one side at least she was shel-
tered from view, she gathered her slight and small
form into its smallest compass, and breathlessly
awaited her fate.
Meanwhile Arbaces and the priest were taking their
way to that secret chamber whose stores were so
vaunted by the Egyptian. They were in a vast sub-
terranean atrium, or hall ; the low roof was supported
by short, thick pillars of an architecture far remote
from the Grecian graces of that luxuriant period. The
single and pale lamp, which Arbaces bore, shed but an
imperfect ray over the bare and rugged walls, in which
the huge stones, without cement, were fitted curiously
and uncouthly into each other. The disturbed reptiles
glared dully on the intruders, and then crept into the
shadow of the walls.
Calenus shivered as he looked around and breathed
the damp, unwholesome air.
" Yet,'' said Arbaces, with a smile, perceiving his
shudder, " it is these rude abodes that furnish the
luxuries of the halls above. They are like the labourers
of the world, — we despise their ruggedness, yet they
feed the very pride that disdains them."
" And whither goes yon dim gallery to the left ? "
asked Calenus ; " in this depth of gloom it seems with-
out limit, as if winding into Hades."
" On the contrary, it does but conduct to the upper
day," answered Arbaces, carelessly : " it is to the right
that we steer to our bourne."
420 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEll
The hall, like many in the more habitable regions of
Pompeii, branched off at the extremity into two wings
or passages ; the length of which, not really great, was
to the eye considerably exaggerated by the sullen
gloom against which the lamp so faintly struggled. To
the right of these ote the two comrades now directed
their steps.
" The gay Glaucus will be lodged to-morrow in
apartments not much drier, and far less spacious than
this," said Calenus, as they passed by the very spot
where, completely wrapped in the shadow of the
broad, projecting buttress, cowered the Thessalian.
" Ay, but then he will have dry room, and ample
enough, in the arena on the following day. And to
think," continued Arbaces, slowly, and very deliber-
ately— " to think that a word of thine could save him,
and consign Arbaces to his doom ! "
" That word shall never be spoken," said Calenus.
" Right, my Calenus ! it never shall," returned Ar-
baces, familiarly leaning his arm on the priest's shoul-
der: " and now, halt — we are at the door! "
The light trembled against a small door deep set in
the wall, and guarded strongly by many plates and
bindings of iron, that intersected the rough and dark-
wood. From his girdle Arbaces now drew a small
ring, holding three or four short but strong keys. O,
how beat the griping heart of Calenus, as he heard the
rusty wards growl, as if resenting the admission to the
treasures they guarded !
" Enter, my friend," said Arbaces, " while I hold the
lamp on high, that thou mayst glut thine eyes on the
yellow heaps."
The impatient Calenus did not wait to be twice in-
vited ; he hastened towards the aperture.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMfEII 421
Scarce had he crossed the threshold, when the
strong hand of Arbaces plunged him forwards.
" The word shall never be spoken! " said the Egyp-
tian, with a loud, exultant laugh, and closed the dooi
upon the priest.
Calenus had been precipitated down several steps,
but not feeling at the moment the pain of his fall, he
sprang up again to the door, and beating at it fiercely
with his clenched fist, he cried aloud in what seemed
more a beast's howl than a human voice, so keen was
his agony and despair: " Oh, release me, release me,
and I will ask no gold ! "
The words but imperfectly penetrated the massive
door, and Arbaces again laughed. Then, stamping his
foot violently, rejoined, perhaps to give vent to his
long-stifled passions, —
" All the gold of Dalmatia," cried he, " will not buy
thee a crust of bread. Starve, wretch! thy dying
groans will never wake even the echo of these vast
halls : nor will the air ever reveal, as thou gnawest, in
thy desperate famine, thy flesh from thy bones, that so
perishes the man who threatened, and could have un-
done, Arbaces ! Farewell ! "
" Oh, pity — mercy ! Inhuman villain ; was it for
this "
The rest of the sentence was lost to the ear of Ar-
baces as he passed backward along the dim hall. A
toad, plump and bloated, lay unmoving before his
path; the rays of the lamp fell upon its unshaped
hideousness and red upward eye. Arbaces turned
aside that he might not harm it.
" Thou art loathsome and obscene," he muttered,
" but thou canst not injure me ; therefore thou art safe
in my path."
422 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The cries of Calenus, dulled and choked by the bar-
rier that confined him, yet faintly reached the ear of
the Egyptian. He paused and listened intently.
" This is unfortunate," thought he ; " for I cannot
sail till that voice is dumb for ever, My stores and
treasures lie, not in yon dungeon, it is true, but in the
opposite wing. My slaves, as they move them, must
not hear his voice. But what fear of that? In three
days, if he still survive, his accents, by my father's
beard, must be weak enough, then! — ^no, they could
not pierce even through his tomb. By Isis, it is cold !
— I long for a deep draught of the spiced Falernian."
With that the remorseless Egyptian drew his gown
closer round him, and resought the upper air.
CHAPTER XIV
NYDIA ACCOSTS CALENUS.
What words of terror, yet of hope, had Nydia over-
heard I The next day Glaucus was to be condemned,
yet there lived one who could save him, and adjudge
Arbaces to his doom, and that one breathed within
a few steps of her hiding-place ! She caught his cries
and shrieks — his imprecations — his prayers, though
they fell choked and muffled on her ear. He was im-
prisoned, but she knew the secret of his cell ; could
she but escape — could she but seek the praetor, he
might yet in time be given to light, and preserve the
Athenian. Her emotions almost stifled her ; her brain
reeled — she felt her sense give way — but by a violent
effort she mastered herself; and, after listening in-
tently for several minutes, till she was convinced that
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 423
Arbaces had left the space to solitude and herself, she
crept on as her ear guided her to the very door that
had closed upon Calenus. Here she more distinctly
caught his accents of terror and despair. Thrice she
attempted to speak, and thrice her voice failed to
penetrate the folds of the heavy door. At length find-
ing the lock, she applied her lips to its small aperture,
and the prisoner distinctly heard a soft tone breathe
his name.
His blood curdled — his hair stood on end. That
awful solitude, what mysterious and preternatural be-
ing could penetrate ! " Who's there ? " he cried, in
new alarm ; " what spectre — what dread larva, calls
upon the lost Calenus ? "
" Priest," replied the Thessalian, " unknown to Ar-
baces, I have been, by the permission of the gods, a
witness to his perfidy. If I myself can escape from
these walls, I may save thee. But let thy voice reach
my ear through this narrow passage, and answer
what I ask."
" Ah, blessed spirit," said the priest, exultingly, and
obeying the suggestion of Nydia, " save me, and I
will sell the very cups on the altar to pay thy kind-
ness."
*^ I want not thy gold — I want thy secret. Did I
hear aright? — Canst thou save the Athenian Glaucus
from the charge against his life ? "
" I can — I can ! — therefore (may the Furies blast the
foul Egyptian !) hath Arbaces snared me thus, and left
me to starve and rot ! "
" They accuse the Athenian of murder : canst thou
disprove the accusation ? "
" Only free me, and the proudest head of Pompeii
is not more safe than his. I saw the deed done — I saw
424 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Arbaces strike the blow ; I can convict the true mur-
derer and acquit the innocent man. But if I perish,
he dies also. Dost thou interest thyself for him ? Oh,
blessed stranger, in my heart is the urn which con-
demns or frees him!"
"And thou wilt give full evidence of what thou
knowest ? "
" Will ? — Oh ! were hell at my feet — yes ! Revenge
on the false Egyptian ! — revenge ! revenge ! revenge ! "
As through his ground teeth Calenus slhrieked forth
those last words, Nydia felt that in his worst passions
was her certainty of his justice to the Athenian. Her
heart beat ; was it to be her proud destiny to preserve
her idolised— her adored ? " Enough," said she ; " the
powers that conducted me hither will carry me
through all. Yes, I feel that I shall deliver thee. Wait
in patience and hope."
" But be cautious, be prudent, sweet stranger. At-
tempt not to appeal to Arbaces — he is marble. Seek
the praetor — say what thou knowest— obtain his writ
of search; bring soldiers, and smiths of cunning —
these locks are wondrous strong ! Time flies — I may
starve — starve ! if you are not quick ! Go — go ! Yet
stay — ^it is horrible to be alone ! — the air is like a char-
nel — ^and the scorpions — ha ! and the pale larvce. Oh !
stay, stay ! "
" Nay," said Nydia, terrified by the terror of the
priest, and anxious to confer with herself, — *' nay, for
thy sake, I must depart. Take Hope for thy compan-
ion— farewell ! "
So saying, she glided away, and felt with extended
arms along the pillared space until she gained the
farther end of the hall and the mouth of the passage
that led to the upper air. But there she paused ; she
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 425
felt that it would be more safe to wait awhile, until
the night was so far blended with the morning that
the whole house would be buried in sleep, and so that
she might quit it unobserved. She, therefore, once
more laid herself down, and counted the weary mo-
ments. In her sanguine heart, joy was the predomi-
nant emotion. Glaucus was in deadly peril — ^but she
should save him !
CHAPTER XV
ARBACES AND TONE.— NYDIA GAINS THE GARDEN. — WILL
SHE ESCAPE AND SAVE THE ATHENIAN ?
When Arbaces had warmed his veins by large
draughts of that spiced and perfumed wine so valued
by the luxurious, he felt more than usually elated and
exultant of heart. There is a pride in triumphant in-
genuity, not less felt, perhaps, though its object be
guilty. Our vain human nature hugs itself in the con-
sciousness of superior craft and self-obtained success
— afterwards comes the horrible reaction of remorse.
But remorse was not a feeling which Arbaces was
likely ever to experience for the fate of the base Ca-
lenus. He swept from his remembrance the thought
of the priest's agonies and lingering death: he felt
only that a great danger was passed, and a possible
foe silenced ; all left to hkn now would be to account
to the priesthood for the disappearance of Calenus;
and this he imagined it would not be difficult to do.
Calenus had often been employed by him in various
religious missions to the neighbouring cities. On
some such errand he could now assert that he had
been sent, with offerings to the shrines of Isis at Her-
425 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
culaneum and Neapolis, placatory of the goddess for
the recent murder of her priest Apaecides. When Ca-
lenus had expired, his body might be thrown, pre-
vious to the Egyptian's departure from Pompeii, into
the deep stream of the Sarnus ; and when discovered,
suspicion would probably fall upon the Nazarene
atheists, as an act of revenge for the death of Olinthus
at the arena. After rapidly running over these plans
for screening himself, Arbaces dismissed at once from
his mind all recollection of the wretched priest ; and,
animated by the success which had lately crowned all
his schemes, he surrendered his thoughts to lone.
The last time he had seen her, she had driven him
from her presence by a reproachful and bitter scorn,
which his arrogant nature was unable to endure. He
now felt emboldened once more to renew that inter-
view ; for his passion for her was like similar feelings
in other men — it made him restless for her presence,
even though in that presence he was exasperated and
humbled. From delicacy to her grief he laid not aside
his dark and unfestive robes, but, renewing the per-
fumes on his raven locks, and arranging his tunic in
its most becoming folds, he sought the chamber of the
Neapolitan. Accosting the slave in attendance with-
out, he inquired if lone had yet retired to rest; and
learning that she was still up, and unusually quiet and
composed, he ventured into her presence. He found
his beautiful ward sitting before a small table, and
leaning her face upon both her hands in the attitude
of thought. Yet the expression of the face itself pos-
sessed not its wonted bright and Psyche-like expres-
sion of sweet intelligence ; the lips were apart — the eye
vacant and unheeding — and the long dark hair, falling
neglected and dishevelled upon her neck, gave by the
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 427
contrast additional paleness to a cheek which had al-
ready lost the roundness of its contour.
Arbaces gazed upon her a moment ere he advanced.
She, too, lifted up her eyes; and when she saw who
was the intruder, shut them with an expression of
pain, but did not stir.
" Ah ! '* said Arbaces, in a low and earnest tone, as
he respectfully, nay, humbly, advanced and seated
himself at a little distance from the table — " ah ! that
my death could remove thy hatred, then would I
gladly die ! Thou wrongest me, lone ; but I will, bear
the wrong without a murmur, only let me see thee
sometimes. Chide, reproach, scorn me, if thou wilt
— I will teach myself to bear it. And is not even thy
bitterest tone sweeter to me than the music of the
most artful lute? In thy silence the world seems to
stand still — a stagnation curdles up the veins of the
earth — there is no earth, no life, without the light of
thy countenance and the melody of thy voice."
" Give me back my brother and my betrothed,"
said lone, in a calm and imploring tone, and a few
large tears rolled unheeded down her cheeks.
" Would that I could restore the one and save the
other ! " returned Arbaces, with apparent emotion.
" Yes ; to make thee happy I would renounce my ill-
fated love, and gladly join thy hand to the Athenian's.
Perhaps he will yet come unscathed from his trial
[Arbaces had prevented her learning that the trial had
already commenced] ; if so, thou art free to judge or
condemn him thyself. And think not, O lone, that I
would follow thee longer with a prayer of love. I
know it is in vain. Suffer me only to weep— to mourn
with thee. Forgive a violence deeply repented, and
that shall offend no more. Let me be to thee only
428 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
what I was — a friend, a father, a protector. Ah, lone !
spare me and forgive."
" I forgive thee. Save but Glaucus, and I will re-
nounce him. O mighty Arbaces! thou art powerful
in evil or in good: save the Athenian, and the poor
lone will never see him more." As she spoke, she
rose with weak and trembling limbs, and falling at his
feet, she clasped his knees : " Oh ! if thou really lovest
me — if thou art human — remember my father's ashes,
remember my childhood, think of all the hours we
passed happily together, and save my Glaucus ! "
Strange convulsions shook the frame of the Egyp-
tian ; his features worked fearfully — ^he turned his face
aside, and said, in a hollow voice, " If I could save him,
even now, I would; but the Roman law is stern and
sharp. Yet if I could succeed — if I could rescue and
set him free — wouldst thou be mine — my bride ? **'
" Thine ! " repeated lone, rising : " thine ! — ^thy
bride? My brother's blood is unavenged: who slew
him ? O Nemesis, can I even sell, for the life of Glau-
cus, thy solemn trust? Arbaces — thine F Never."
" lone, lone ! " cried Arbaces passionately ; " why
these mysterious words; — why dost thou couple my
name with the thought of thy brother's death ? "
" My dreams couple it — and dreams are from the
gods."
** Vain fantasies all ! Is it for a dream that thou
wouldst wrong the innocent, and hazard thy sole
chance of saving thy lover's life ? "
" Hear me ! " said lone, speaking firmly, and with
a deliberate and solemn voice : " if Glaucus be saved
by thee, I will never be borne to his home a bride.
But I cannot master the horror of other rites : I can-
not wed with thee. Interrupt me not ; but mark me,
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 429
Arbaces! — if Glaucus die, on that same day I bafHe
thine arts, and leave to thy love only my dust ! Yes,
— thou mayst put the knife and the poison from my
reach — thou mayst imprison — thou mayst chain me,
but the brave soul resolved to escape is never without
means. These hands, naked and unarmed though
they be, shall tear away the bonds of life. Fetter
them, and these lips shall firmly refuse the air. Thou
art learned — ^thou hast read how women have died
rather than meet dishonour. If Glaucus perish, I will
not unworthily linger behind him. By all the gods of
the heaven, and the ocean, and the earth, I devote my-
self to death ! I have said ! "
High, proud, dilating in her stature, like one in-
spired, the air and voice of lone struck an awe into
the breast of her listener.
" Brave heart ! " said he, after a short pause ; " thou
art indeed worthy to be mine. Oh! that I should
have dreamt of such a partner in my lofty destinies,
and never found it but in thee ! lone," he continued
rapidly, " dost thou not see that we are born for each
other? Canst thou not recognise something kindred
to thine own energy — ^thine own courage — in this
high and self-dependent soul? We were formed to
unite our sympathies — formed to breathe a new spirit
into this hackneyed and gross world — formed for the
mighty ends which my soul, sweeping down the
gloom of time, foresees with a prophet's vision. With
a resolution equal to thine own I Jefy thy threats of
an inglorious suicide. I hail thee as my own ! Queen
of climes undarkened by the eagle's wing, unravaged
by his beak, I bow before thee in homage and in awe
— but I claim thee in worship and in love ! Together
we will cross the ocean — together we will found our
430 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
realm; and far distant ages shall acknowledge the
long race of kings born from the marriage-bed of
Arbaces and lone ! "
" Thou ravest ! These mystic declamations are
suited rather to some palsied crone selling charms in
the market-place than to the wise Arbaces. Thou
hast heard my resolution, — it is fixed as the Fates
themselves. Orcus has heard my vow, and it is writ-
ten in the book of the unforgetful Hades. Atone,
then, O Arbaces! — atone the past: convert hatred
into regard — vengeance into gratitude; preserve one
who shall never be thy rival. These are acts suited
to thy original nature, which gives forth sparks of
something high and noble. They weigh in the scales
of the Kings of Death : they turn the balance on that
day when the disembodied soul stands shivering and
dismayed between Tartarus and Elysium ; they glad-
den the heart in life, better and longer than the
reward of a momentary passion. Oh, Arbaces ! hear
me, and be swayed ! "
" Enough, lone. All that I can do for Glaucus
shall be done; but blame me not if I fail. Inquire
of my foes, even, if I have not sought, if I do not seek,
to turn aside the sentence from his head ; and judge
me accordingly. Sleep then, lone. Night wanes; T
leave thee to its rest, — and mayst thou have kinder
dreams of one who has no existence but in thine.'*
Without waiting a reply Arbaces hastily withdrew ;
afraid, perhaps, to trust himself further to the pas-
sionate prayer of lone, which racked him with jeal-
ousy, even while it touched him to compassion. But
compassion itself came too late. Had lone even
pledged him her hand as his reward, he could not now
— his evidence given — ^the populace excited — have
THE LAST DAYS. OF POMPEII 431
saved the Athenian. Still, made sanguine by his very
energy of mind, he threw himself on the chances of
the future, and believed he should yet triumph over
the woman that had. so entangled his passions.
As his attendants assisted to unrobe him for the
night the thought of Nydia flashed across him. He
felt it was necessary that lone should never learn of
her lover's frenzy, lest it might excuse his imputed
crime ; and it was possible that her attendants might
inform her that Nydia was under his roof, and she
might desire to see her. As this idea crossed him, he
turned to one of his freedmen, —
" Go, Callias," said he, " forthwith to Sosia, and tell
him, that on no pretence is he to suffer the blind slave
Nydia out of her chamber. But, stay — first seek
those in attendance upon my ward, and caution them
not to inform her that the blind girl is under my roof.
Go — quick ! "
The freedman hastened to obey. After having dis-
charged his commission with respect to lone's attend-
ants, he sought the worthy Sosia. He found him not
in the little cell which was apportioned for his cubicu-
lum; he called his name aloud, and from Nydia's
chamber, close at hand, he heard the voice of Sosia
reply,—
" Oh, Callias, is that you that I hear ? — ^the gods be
praised ! Open the door, I pray you ! "
Callias withdrew the bolt, and the rueful face of
Sosia hastily obtruded itself.
"What! — in the chamber with that young girl,
Sosia ! Proh pudor! Are there not fruits ripe enough
on the wall, but that thou must tamper with such
»
green —
" Name not the little witch ! " interrupted Sosia,
432 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
impatiently ; " she will be my ruin I " And he forth-
with imparted to Callias the history of the Air
Demon, and the escape of the Thessalian.
" Hang thyself, then, unhappy Sosia ! I am just
charged from Arbaces with a message to thee ; on no
account art thou to suffer her, even for a moment;
from that chamber ! "
"Me miserum!'* exclaimed the slave. "What can
I do? By this time she may have visited half Pom-
peii. But to-morrow I will undertake to catch her in
her old haunts. Keep but my counsel, my dear Cal-
lias."
" I will do all that friendship can, consistent with
my own safety. But are you sure she has left the
house ? — she may be hiding here yet."
" How is that possible ? She could easily have
gained the garden: and the door as I told thee was
open."
" Nay, not so ! for, at that very hour thou specifiest,
Arbaces was in the garden with the priest Calenus. I
went there in search of some herbs for my master's
bath to-morrow. I saw the table set out ; but the gate
I am sure was shut.: depend upon it, that Calenus en-
tered by the garden, and naturally closed the door
after him."
" But it was not locked."
"Yes; for I myself, angry at a negligence which
might expose the bronzes in the peristyle to the mercy
of any robber, turned the key, took it away, and — as
I did not see the proper slave to whom to give it, or
I should have rated him finely — here it actually is, still
in my girdle."
" Oh, merciful Bacchus ! I did not pray to thee in
vain, after all. Let us not lose a moment! Let us
to the garden instantly — she may yet be there ! "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 433
'fhe good-natured Callias consented to assist the
slave; and after vainly searching the chambers at
hand, and the recesses of the peristyle, they entered
the garden.
It was about this time that Nydia had resolved to
quit her hiding-place, and venture forth on her way.*
Lightly, tremulously holding her breath, which ever
and anon broke forth in quick convulsive gasps, —
now gHding by the flower-wreathed columns that
bordered the peristyle — now darkening the still
moonshine that fell over its tesselated centre — now
ascending the terrace of the garden — now gliding
amidst the gloomy and breathless trees, she gained
the fatal door — to find it locked! We have all seen
that expression of pain, of uncertainty, of fear, which
a sudden disappointment of touch, if I may use the
expression, casts over the face of the blind. But
what words can paint the intolerable woe, the sinking
of the whole heart, which was now visible on the
features of the Thessalian? Again and again her
small, quivering hands wandered to and fro the in-
exorable door. Poor thing that thou wert! in vain
had been all thy noble courage, thy innocent craft,
thy doublings to escape the hound and huntsmen!
Within but a few yards from thee, laughing at thy en-
deavours— thy despair — knowing thou wert now their
own, and watching with cruel patience their own mo-
ment to seize their prey — thou art saved from seeing
thy pursuers!
" Hush, Callias ! — let her go on. Let us see what
she will do when she has convinced herself that the
door is honest.''
" Look ! she raises her face to the heavens — she
mutters — she sinks down despondent! No! by Pol-
28
434 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
lux, she has some new scheme ! She will not resign
herself ! By Jupiter, a tough spirit ! See, she springs
up — she retraces her steps — she thinks of some other
chance! — I advise thee, Sosia, to delay no longer:
seize her ere she quit the garden, now ! "
" Ah ! runaway ! I have thee, eh ? " said Sosia, seiz-
ing upon the unhappy Nydia.
As a hare's last human cry in the fangs of the dogs
— as the sharp voice of terror uttered by a sleep-
walker suddenly awakened — broke the shriek of the
blind girl, when she felt the abrupt gripe of her gaoler.
It was a shriek of such utter agony, such entire
despair, that it might have rung hauntingly in your
ears for ever. She felt as if the last plank of the sink-
ing Glaucus were torn from his clasp ! It had been a
suspense of life and death; and death had now won
the game.
" Gods ! that cry will alarm the house ! Arbaces
sleeps full lightly. Gag her ! " cried Callias.
" Ah ! here is the very napkin with which the young
witch conjured away my reason ! Come, that's right ;
now thou art dumb as well as blind."
And, catching the light weight in his arms, Sosia
soon gained the house, and reached the chamber from
which Nydia had escaped. There, removing the gag,
he left her to a solitude so racked and terrible, that
out of Hades its anguish could scarcely be exceeded.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 435
CHAPTER XVI
THE SORROW OF BOON COMPANIONS FOR OUR AFFLIC-
TIONS.— ^THE DUNGEON AND ITS VICTIMS.
It was now late on the third and last day of the trial
of Glaucus and Olinthus. A few hours after the court
had broken up and judgment been given, a small
party of the fashionable youth at Pompeii were as-
sembled round the fastidious board of Lepidus.
" So Glaucus denies his crime to the last ? '' said
Clodius.
" Yes ; but the testimony of Arbaces was convinc-
ing; he saw the blow given," answered Lepidus.
" What could have been the cause ? "
" Why, the priest was a gloomy and sullen fellow.
He probably rated Glaucus soundly about his gay life
and gaming habits, and ultimately swore he would
not consent to his marriage with lone. High words
arose; Glaucus seems to have been full of the pas-
sionate god, and struck in sudden exasperation. The
excitement of wine, the desperation of abrupt re-
morse, brought on the delirium under which he suf-
fered for some days; and I can readily imagine, poor
fellow I that, yet confused by that delirium', he is even
now unconscious of the crime he committed! Such,
at least, is the shrewd conjecture of Arbaces, who
seems to have been most kind and forbearing in his
testimony."
" Yes ; he has made himself generally popular by
it. But, in consideration of these extenuating circum-
stances, the senate should have relaxed the sentence."
" And they would have done so, but for the people ;
436 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
but they were outrageous. The priest had spared no
pains to excite them ; and they imagined — the fero-
cious brutes! — ^because Glaucus wa's a rich man and
a gentleman, that he was Hkely to escape ; and there-
fore they were inveterate against him, and doubly re-
solved upon his sentence. It seems, by some accident
or other, that he was never formally enrolled as a Ro-
man citizen; and thus the senate is deprived of the
power to resist the people, though, after all, there was
but a majority of three against him. Ho ! the Chian ! "
" He looks sadly altered ; but how composed and
fearless ! "
" Ay, we shall see if his firmness will last over to-
morrow. But what merit in courage, when that athe-
istical hound, Olinthus, manifested the same ? "
" The blasphemer ! Yes," said Lepidus, with pious
wrath, " no wonder that one of the decurions was, but
two days ago, struck dead by lightning in a serene
sky.^ The gods feel vengeance against Pompeii while
the vile desecrator is alive within its walls."
" Yet so lenient was the senate, that had he but ex-
pressed his penitence, and scattered a few grains of
incense on the altar of Cybele, he would have been let
off. I doubt whether these Nazarenes, had they the
state religion, would be as tolerant to us, supposing
we had kicked down the image of their Deity, blas-
phemed their rites, and denied their faith."
" They give Glaucus one chance, in consideration
of the circumstances ; they allow him, against the lion,
the use of the same stilus wherewith he smote the
priest."
1 Pliny says that, immediately before the eruption of Vesu-
vius, one of the decuriones municipales was — though the
heaven was unclouded — struck dead by lightning.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 437
" Hast thou seen the lion ? hast thou looked at his
teeth and fangs, and wilt thou call that a chance ? Why,
sword and buckler would be mere reed and papyrus
against the rush of the mighty beast ! No, I think the
true mercy has been, not to leave him long in sus-
pense ; and it was therefore fortunate for him that our
benign laws are slow to pronounce, but swift to exe-
cute; and that the games of the amphitheatre had
been, by a sort of providence, so long fixed for to-
morrow. He who awaits death, dies twice."
" As for the Atheist," said Clodius, " he is to cope
the grim tiger naked-handed. Well, these combats
are past betting on. Who will take the odds ? "
A peal of laughter announced the ridicule of the
question.
" Poor Clodius ! " said the host ; " to lose a friend
is something ; but to find no one to bet on the chance
of his escape is a worse misfortune to thee."
" Why, it is provoking ; it would have been some
consolation to him and to me to think he was useful
to the last."
" The people," said the grave 'Pansa, " &re all de-
lighted with the result. They were so much afraid
the sports at the amphitheatre would go off without
a criminal for the beasts: and now, to get two such
criminals is indeed a joy for the poor fellows ! They
work hard ; they ought to have some amusement."
" There speaks the popular Pansa, who never
moves without a string of clients as long as an Indian
triumph. He is always prating about the people.
Godfe ! he will end by being a Gracchus ! "
" Certainly I am no insolent patrician," said Pansa,
with a generous air.
Well," observed Lepidus, "it would have been
(t
438 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
assuredly dangerous to have been merciful at the eve
of a beast-fight. If ever /, though a Roman bred and
born, come to be tried, pray Jupiter there may be
either no beasts in the vivaria, or plenty of criminals
.in the gaol."
" And pray," said one of the party, " what has be-
come of the poor girl whom Glaucus was to have mar-
ried ? A widow without being a bride — that is hard ! "
" Oh," returned Clodius, " she is safe under the
protection of her guardian, Arbaces. It was natural
she should go to him when she had lost both lover
and brother."
" By sweet Venus, Glaucus was fortunate among
the women ! They say the rich Julia was in love with
him."
"A mere fable, my friend," said Clodius, cox-
combically ; " I was with her to-day. If any feeling
of the sort she ever conceived, I flatter myself that /
have consoled her,"
" Hush, gentlemen ! " said Pansa ; " do you not
know that Clodius is employed at the house of Dio-
med in blowing hard at the torch ? It begins to burn,
and will soon shine bright on the shrine of Hymen."
" Is it so ? " said Lepidus. " What ! Clodius become
a married man?— Fie!"
" Never fear," answered Clodius ; " old Diomed is
delighted at the notion of marrying his daughter to a
nobleman, and will come down largely with the ses-
terces. You will see that I shall not lock them up in
the atrium. It will be a white day for his jolly friends,
when Clodius marries an heiress."
" Say you so ? " cried Lepidus ; " come, then, a full
cup to the health of the fair Julia ! "
While such was the conversation — one not dis-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 439
cordant to the tone of mind common among the dis-
sipated of that day, and which might perhaps, a cen-
tury ago, have found an echo in the looser circles of
Paris — while such, I say, was the conversation in the
gaudy triclinium of Lepidus, far different the scene
which scowled before the young Athenian.
After his condemnation, Glaucus was admitted no
more to the gentle guardianship of Sallust, the only
friend of his distress. He was led along the forum
till the guards stopped at a small door by the side of
the temple of Jupiter. You may see the place still.
The door opened in the centre in a somewhat singu-
lar fashion, revolving round on its hinges, as it were,
like a modern turnstile, so as only to leave half the
threshold open at the same time. Through this nar-
row aperture they thrust the prisoner, placed before
him a loaf and a pitcher of water, and left him to dark-
ness, and, as he thought, to solitude. So sudden had
been that revolution of fortune which had prostrated
him from the palmy height of youthful pleasure and
successful love to the lowest abyss of ignominy, and
the horror of a most bloody death, that he could
scarcely convince himself that he was not held in the
meshes of some fearful dream. His elastic and glo-
rious frame had triumphed over a potion, the greater
part of which he had fortunately not drained. He had
recovered sense and consciousness, but still a dim and
misty depression clung to his nerves and darkened
his mind. His natural courage, and the Greek nobility
of pride, enabled him to vanquish all Unbecoming ap-
prehension, and, in the judgment-court, to face his
awful lot with a steady mien and unquailing eye. But
the consciousness of innocence scarcely sufficed to
support him when the gaze of men no longer excited
440 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
his haughty valour, and he was left to loneliness and
silence. He felt the damps of the dungeon sink chill-
ingly into his enfeebled frame. He — the fastidious,
the luxurious, the refined — he who had hitherto
braved no hardship and known no sorrow. Beautiful
bird that he was! why had he left his far and sunny
clime — the olive-groves of his native hill — the music
of immemorial streams? Why had he wantoned on
his glittering plumage amidst these harsh and un-
genial strangers, dazzling the eye with his gorgeous
hues, charming the ear with his blithesome song —
thus suddenly to be arrested — caged in datkness —
a victim and a prey — his gay flights for ever over —
his hymns of gladness for ever stilled! The poor
Athenian! his very faults the exuberance of a gentle
and joyous nature, how little had his past career fitted
him for the trials he was destined to undergo! The
hoots of the mob, amidst whose plaudits he had so
often guided his graceful car and bounding steeds,
still rang gratingly in his ear. The cold and stony
faces of his former friends (the co-mates of his merry
revels) still rose before his eye. None now were by
to soothe, to sustain, the admired, the adulated
stranger. These walls opened but on the dread arena
of a violent and shameful death. And lone ! of her,
too, he had heard naught; no encouraging word, no
pitying message ; she, too, had forsaken him ; she be-
lieved him guilty — and of what crime? — the murder
of a brother! He ground his teeth — ^he groaned
aloud — and ever and anon a sharp fear shot across
him. In that fell and fierce delirium which had so un-
accountably seized his soul, which had so ravaged the
disordered brain, might he noty indeed, unknowing to
himself, have committed the crime of which he was
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 441
accused? Yet, as the thought flashed upon him, it
was as suddenly checked; for, amidst all the dark-
ness of the past, he thought distinctly to recall the
dim grove of Cybele, the upward face of the pale dead,
the pause that he had made beside the corpse, and the
sudden shock that felled him to the earth. He felt
convinced of his innocence ; and yet who, to the latest
time, long after his mangled remains were mingled
with the elements, would believe him guiltless, or up-
hold his fame ? As he recalled his interview with Ar-
baces, and the causes of revenge which had been ex-
cited in the heart of that dark and fearful man, he
could not but believe that he was the victim of some
deep-laid and mysterious snare — the clue and train
of which he was lost in attempting to discover: and
lone — Arbaces loved her — might his rival's success be
founded upon his ruin ? That thought cut him more
deeply than all; and his noble heart was more stung
by jealousy than appalled by fear. Again he groaned
aloud.
A voice from the recess of the darkness answered
that burst of anguish. " Who," it said, " is my com-
panion in this awful hour? Athenian Glaucus, is it
thou?"
" So, indeed, they called me in mine hour of for-
tune : they may have other names for me now. And
thy name, stranger ? "
" Is Olinthus, thy co-mate in the prison as the
trial."
" What ! he whom they call the Atheist ? Is it the
injustice of men that hath taught thee to deny the
providence of the gods ? "
" Alas ! " answered Olinthus : " thou, not I, art the
true Atheist, for thou deniest the sole true God — ^the
442 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
unknown One — ^to whom thy Athenian fathers erected
an altar. It is in this hour that I know my God. He
is with me in the dungeon; His smile penetrates the
darkness ; on the eve of death my heart whispers im-
mortality, and earth recedes from me but to bring the
weary soul nearer unto heaven."
" Tell me," said Glaucus, abruptly, " did I not hear
thy name coupled with that of Apaecides in my trial?
Dost thou believe me guilty ? "
" God alone reads the heart ! but my suspicion
rested not upon thee."
" On whom, then ? "
" Thy accuser, Arbaces."
" Ha ! thou cheerest me : and wherefore ? "
" Because I know the man's evil breast, and he had
cause to fear him who is now dead."
With that, Olinthus proceeded to inform Glaucus of
those details which the reader already knows, the con-
version of Apaecides, the plan they had proposed for
the detection of the impostures of the Egyptian priest-
craft, and of the seductions practised by Arbaces upon
the youthful weakness of the proselyte. " Therefore,"
concluded Olinthus, " had the deceased encountered
Arbaces, reviled his treasons, and threatened detec-
tion, the place, the hour, might have favoured the
wrath of the Egyptian, and passion and craft alike dic-
tated the fatal blow."
" It must have been so I " cried Glaucus, joyfully.
" I am happy."
" Yet what, O unfortunate I avails to thee now the
discovery? Thou art condemned and fated; and in
thine innocence thou wilt perish."
'' But I shall know myself guiltless ; and in my mys-
terious madness I had fearful, though momentary,
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 443
doubts. Yet tell me, man of a strange creed, thinkest
thou that for small errors, or for ancestral faults, we
are forever abandoned and accursed by the powers
above, whatever name thou allottest to them ? "
" God is just, and abandons not His creatures for
their mere human frailty. God is merciful, and curses
none but the wicked who repent not.*'
" Yet it seemeth to me as if, in the divine anger, I
had been smitten by a sudden madness, a supernatural
and solemn frenzy, wrought not by human means."
" There are demons on earth," answered the Naza-
rene, fearfully, "as well as there are God and His
Son in heaven ; and since thou acknowledgest not the
last, the first may have had power over thee."
Glaucus did not reply, and there was a silence for
some minutes. At length the Athenian said, in a
changed, and soft, and half-hesitating voice, " Chris-
tian, believest thou, among the doctrines of thy creed,
that the dead live again — that they who have loved
here are united hereafter — ^that beyond the grave our
good name shines pure from the mortal mists that
unjustly dim it in the gross-eyed world — and that the
streams which are divided by the desert and the rock
meet in the solemn Hades, and flow once more into
oner
?"
Believe I that, O Athenian ? No, I do not believe
— I know! and it is that beautiful and blessed assur-
ance which supports me now. O Cyllene ! " contin-
ued Olinthus, passionately, " bride of my heart ! torn
from me in the first month of our nuptials, shall I not
see thee yet, and ere many days be past? Welcome,
welcome death, that will bring me to heaven and
thee ! "
There was something in this sudden burst of hu-
444 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
man affection which struck a kindred chord in the
soul of the Greek. He felt, for the first time, a sym-
pathy greater than mere affliction between him and
his companion. He crept nearer towards Olinthus;
for the Italians, fierce in some points, were not un-
necessarily cruel in others; they spared the separate
cell and the superfluous chain, and allowed the vic-
tims of the arena the sad comfort of such freedom and
such companionship as the prison would afford.
" Yes," continued the Christian with holy fervour,
"the immortality of the soul — the resurrection — the
reunion of the dead — is the great principle of our
creed — the great truth a God suffered death itself to
attest and proclaim. No fabled Elysium — ^no poetic
Orcus — ^but a pure and radiant heritage of heaven it-
self, is the portion of the good."
" Tell me, then, thy doctrines, and expound to me
thy hopes," said Glaucus, earnestly.
Olinthus was not slow to obey that prayer; and
there — as oftentimes in the early ages of the Chris-
tian creed — it was in the darkness of the dungeon, and
over the approach of death, that the dawning ijrospel
shed its soft and consecrating rays.
CHAPTER XVII
A CHANGE FOR GLAUCUS.
The hours passed in lingering torture over the head
of Nydia from the time in which she had been re-
placed in her cell.
Sosia, as if afraid he should be again outwitted, had
refrained from visiting her until late in the morning
of the following day, and then he but thrust in the
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 445
periodical basket of food and wine, and hastily re-
closed the door. That day rolled on, and Nydia felt
herself pent — barred — inexorably confined, when that
day was the judgment-day of Glaucus, and when her
release would have saved him ! Yet knowing, al-
most impossible as seemed her escape, that the sole
chance for the life of Glaucus rested on her, this
young girl, frail, passionate, and acutely susceptible
as she was — resolved not to give way to a despair
that would disable her from seizing whatever oppor-
tunity might occur. She kept her senses whenever,
beneath the whirl of intolerable thought, they reeled
and tottered; nay, she took food and wine that she
might sustain her strength — ^that she might be pre-
pared ! m
She revolved scheme after scheme of escape, and
was forced to dismiss all. »Yet Sosia was her only
hope, the only instrument with which she could tam-
per. He had been superstitious in the desire of as-
certaining whether he could" eventually purchase his
freedom. Blessed gods! might he not be won by
the bribe of freedom itself? was she not nearly rich
enough to purchase it ? Her slender arms were cov-
ered with bracelets, the presents of lone ; and on her
neck she yet wore that very chain which, it may be
remembered, had occasioned her jealous quarrel with
Glaucus, and which she had afterwards promised
vainly to wear for ever. She waited burningly till
Sosia should again appear; but as hour after hour
passed, and he came not, she grew impatient. Every
nerve beat with fever; she could endure the solitude
no longer — she groaned, she shrieked aloud — ^she
beat herself against the door. Her cries echoed along
the hall, and Sosia, in peevish anger, hastened to see
446 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
what was the matter, and silence his prisoner if pos-
sible.
" Ho ! ho ! what is this ? " said he, surlily. " Young
slave, if thou screamest out thus, we must gag thee
again. My shoulders will smart for it, if thou art
heard by my master."
" Kind Sosia, chide me not — I cannot endure to be
so long alone," answered Nydia ; " the solitude ap-
pals me. Sit with me, I pray, a little while. Nay,
fear not that I should attempt to escape; place thy
seat before the door. Keep thine eye on me — I will
not stir from this spot."
Sosia, who was a considerable gossip himself, was
moved by this address. He pitied one who had
nobody to talk with — it was his case too ; he pitied —
and resolved to relieve himself. He took the hint of
Nydia, placed a stool before the door, leant his back
against it, and replied, —
" I am sure I do not wish to be churlish ; and so far
as a little innocent chat goes, I have no objection to
indulge you. But mind, no tricks — no more conjur-
ing ! "
"No, no; tell me, dear Sosia, what is the hour?"
" It is already evening — the goats are going home."
" O gods ! how went the trial ? "
" Both condemned ! "
Nydia repressed the shriek. " Well — well, I
thought it would be so. When do they suffer? "
" To-morrow, in the amphitheatre. If it were not
for thee, little wretch, I should be allowed to go with
the rest and see it."
Nydia leant back for some moments. Nature could
endure no more — ^she had fainted away. But Sosia
did not perceive it, for it was the dusk of eve, and he
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 447
was full of his own privations. He went oil lamenting
the loss of so delightful a show, and accusing the in-
justice of Arbaces for singling him out from all his
fellows to be converted into a gaoler ; and ere he had
half finished, Nydia, with a deep sigh, recovered the
sense of life.
"Thou sighest, blind one, at my loss! Well, that
is some comfort. So long as you acknowledge how
much you cost me, I will endeavour not to grumble.
It is hard to be ill-treateJ, and yet not pitied."
" Sosia, how much dost thou require to make up the
purchase of thy freedom ? "
" How much ? Why, about two thousand ses-
terces."
" The gods be praised ! not more ? Seest thou these
bracelets and this chain ? They are well worth double
that sum. I will give them thee if "
" Tempt me not : I cannot release thee. Arbaces is
a severe and awful master. Who knows but I might
feed the fishes of the Sarnus ? Alas ! all the sesterces
in the world would not buy me back into life. Better
a live dog than a dead lion."
" Sosia, thy freedom ! Think well ! If thou wilt let
me out only for one little hour! — let me out at mid-
night— I will return ere to-morrow's dawn ; nay, thou
canst go with me."
" No," said Sosia, sturdily, " a slave once disobeyed
Arbaces, and he was never more heard of."
" But the law gives a master no power over the life
of a slave."
"The law is very obliging, but more polite than
efficient. I know that Arbaces always gets the law on
his side. Besides, if I am once dead, what law can
bring me to life again? "
«
((
448 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Nydia wrung her hands. " Is there no hope, then ? "
said she, convulsively.
None of escape till Arbaces gives the word."
Well, then," said Nydia, quickly, " thou wilt not,
at least, refuse to take a letter for me: thy master
cannot kill thee for that."
. " To whom ? "
The praetor."
To a magistrate? No— not I. I should be made
a witness in court, for what I know ; and the way they
cross-examine the slaves is by the torture."
" Pardon : I meant not the praetor — it was a word
that escaped me unawares ; I meant quite another per-
son— the gay Sallust."
" Oh ! and what want you with him? "
" Glaucus was my master ; he purchased me from a
cruel lord. He alone has been kind to me. He is to
die. I shall never live happily if I cannot, in this hour
of trial and doom, let him know that one heart is grate-
ful to him. Sallust is his friend; he will convey my
message."
" I am sure he will do no such thing. Glaucus will
have enough to think of between this and to-morrow
without troubling his head about a blind girl."
" Man," said Nydia, rising, " wilt thou become free?
Thou hast the offer in thy power ; to-morrow it will be
too late. Never was freedom more cheaply purchased.
Thou canst easilv and unmissed leave home : less than
half an hour will suffice for thine absence. And for
such a trifle wilt thou refuse liberty ? "
Sosia was greatly moved. It was true that the re-
quest was remarkably silly ; but what was that to him ?
So much the better. He could lock the door on Nydia,
and, if Arbaces should learn his absence, the offence
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 449
was venial, and would merit but a reprimand. Yet,
should Nydia's letter contain something more than
what she had said — ^should it speak of her imprison-
ment, as he shrewdly conjectured it would do — ^what
then ! It need never be known to Arbaces that he had
carried the letter. At the worst the bribe was enor-
mous— the risk light — the temptation irresistible. He
hesitated no longer — he assented to the proposal.
" Give me the trinkets, and I will take the letter. Yet
stay — thou art a slave — thou hast no right to these or-
naments— they are thy master's."
" They were the gifts of Glaucus ; he is my master.
What chance hath he to claim them? Who else will
know they are in my possession ? "
" Enough — I will bring thee the papyrus."
" No, not papyrus — ^a tablet of wax and a stilus."
Nydia, as the reader will have seen, was bom of
gentle parents. They had done all to lighten her
calamity, and her quick intellect seconded their ex-
ertions. Despite her blindness she had therefore ac-
quired in childhood, though imperfectly, the art to
write with a sharp stilus upon waxen tablets, in which
her exquisite sense of touch came to her aid. When
the tablets were brought to her, she thus painfully
traced some words in Greek, the language of her child-
hood, and which almost every Italian of the higher
ranks was then supposed to know. She carefully
wound round the epistle the protecting thread, and
covered its knot with wax ; and ere she placed it in the
hands of Sosia, she thus addressed him : —
" Sosia, I am blind and in prison. Thou mayst think
to deceive me— thou mayst pretend only to take this
letter to Sallust— thou mayst not fulfil thy charge:
but here I solemnly dedicate thy head to vengeance,
29
450 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
thy soul to the infernal powers, if thou wrongest thy
trust ; and I call upon thee to place thy right hand of
faith in mine, and repeat after me these words: — ' By
the ground on which we stand — ^by the elements
which contain life and can curse life — ^by Orcus, the
all-avenging — ^by the Olympian Jupiter, the all-seeing
— I swear that I will honestly discharge my trust, and
faithfully deliver into the hands of Sallust this letter !
And if I perjure myself in this oath, may the full curses
of heaven and hell be wreaked upon me ! ' Enough ! —
I trust thee — ^take thy reward. It is already dark — de-
part at once."
" Thou art a strange girl, and thou hast frightened
me terribly ; but it is all very natural : and if Sallust is
to be found, I give him this letter as I have sworn. By
my faith, I may have my little peccadilloes! but per-
jury— ^no! I leave that to my betters."
With this Sosia withdrew, carefully passing the
heavy bolt athwart Nydia's door— carefully locking its
wards : and hanging the key to his girdle, he retired to
his own den, enveloped himself from head to foot in a
huge disguising cloak, and slipped out by the back way
undisturbed and unseen.
The streets were thin and empty. He soon gained
the house of Sallust. The porter bade him leave his
letter, and be gone ; for Sallust was so grieved at the
condemnation of Glaucus, that he could not on any ac-
count be disturbed.
" Nevertheless, I have sworn to give this letter into
his own hands — do so I must ! " And Sosia, well
knowing by experience that Cerberus loves a sop,
thrust some half a dozen sesterces into the hand of the
porter.
" Well, well," said the latter, relenting, " you may
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 451
enter if you will ; but, to tell you the truth, Sallust is
drinking himself out of his grief. It is his way when
anything disturbs him. He orders a capital supper,
the best wine, and does not give over till everything is
out of his head — ^but the liquor."
"An excellent plan — excellent! Ah, \vhat it is to
'be rich! If I were Sallust, I would have some grief
or another every day. But just say a kind word for
me with the atriensis — I see him coming."
Sallust was too sad to receive company ; he was too
sad, also, to drink alone; so, as was his wont, he ad-
mitted his favourite freedman to his entertainment,
and a stranger banquet never was held. For ever and
* anon, the kind-hearted epicure sighed, whimpered,
wept outright, and then turned with double zest to
some new dish or his refilled goblet.
" My good fellow," said he to his companion, " it
was a- most awful judgment — ^heigho! — it is not bad
that kid, eh? Poor, dear Glaucus! — what a jaw the
lion has too ! Ah, ah, ah ! "
And Sallust sobbed loudly — the fit was stopped by
a counter-action of hiccups.
Take a cup of wine," said the freedman.
A thought too cold: but then how cold Glaucus
must be! Shut up the house to-morrow — not a slave
shall stir forth — none of my people shall honour that
cursed arena — No, no ! "
" Taste the Falemian — ^your grief distracts you. By
the gods it does — b, piece of that cheesecake."
It was at this auspicious moment that Sosia was ad-
mitted to the presence of the disconsolate carouser.
" Ho— what art thou ? "
■' Merely a messenger to Sallust. I give him this
billet from a young female. There is no answer that I
know of. May I withdraw ? "
452 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Thus said the discreet Sosia, keeping his face
muffled in his cloak, and speaking with a feigned voice,
so that he might not hereafter be recognised.
" By the gods — a pimp ! Unfeeling wretch !— -do
you not see my sorrows ? Go ! — ^and the curses of Pan-
darus with you ! "
Sosia lost not a moment in retiring.
" Will you read the letter, Sallust ? " said the f reed-
man.
" Letter I — which letter ? " said the epicure, reeling,
for he began to see double. " A curse on these wenches,
say I! Am I a man to think of — (hiccup) — pleasure,
when — when — my friend is going to be eat up ? "
" Eat another tartlet.'*
" No, no ! My grief chokes me ! '*
" Take him to bed," said the f reedman ; and, Sal-
lust's head now declining fairly on his breast, they
bore him off to his cubiculum, still muttering lamenta-
tions for Glaucus, and imprecations on the unfeeling
overtures of ladies of pleasure.
Meanwhile Sosia strode indignantly homeward.
" Pimp, indeed ! " quoth he to himself. " Pimp ! a
scurvy-tongued fellow that Sallust! Had I been
called knave, or thief, I could have forgiven it; but
pimp ! Faugh ! there is something in the word which
the toughest stomach in the world would rise against.
A knave is a knave for his own pleasure, and a thief
a thief for his own profit ; and there is something hon-
ourable and philosophical in being a rascal for one's
own sake : that is doing things upon principle — upon a
grand scale. But a pimp is a thing that defiles itself for
another — a pipkin that is put on the fire for another
man's pottage! a napkin that every guest wipes his
hands upon! and the scullion says, 'by your leave,'
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 453
too. A pimp ! I would rather he had called me par-
ricide! But the man was drunk, and did not know
what he said; and, besides, I disguised myself. Had
he seen it had been Sosia who addressed him, it would
have been * honest Sosia ! ' and * worthy man ! ' I war-
rant. Nevertheless, the trinkets have been won easily
— that's some comfort! and, O goddess Feronia! I
shall be a f reedman soon ! and then I should like to see
who'll call me pimp ! — ^unless, indeed, he pay me pretty
handsomely for it ! "
While Sosia was soliloquising in this high-minded
and generous vein, his path lay along a narrow lane
that led towards the amphitheatre and its adjacent pal-
aces. Suddenly, as he turned a sharp corner he found
himself in the midst of a considerable crowd. Men,
women, and children, all were hurrying or laughing,
talking, gesticulating ; and, ere he was aware of it, the
worthy Sosia was borne away with the noisy stream.
" What now ? " he asked of his nearest neighbour, a
young artificer, " what now ? Where are all these good
folks thronging? Does any rich patron give away
alms or viands to-night ? "
" Not so, man — ^better still," replied the artificer ;
"the noble Pansa — ^the people's friend — has granted
the public leave to see the beasts in their vivaria. By
Hercules ! they will not be seen so safely by some per-
sons to-morrow."
" 'Tis a pretty sight," said the slave, yielding to the
throng that impelled him onward ; " and since I may
not go to the sports to-morrow, I may as well take a
peep at the beasts to-night."
" You will do well," returned his new acquaintance,
" a lion and a tiger are not to be seen at Pompeii every
day."
4S4 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The crowd had now entered a broken and wide space
of ground, on which, as it was only lighted scantily
and from a distance, the press became dangerous to
those whose limbs and shoulders were not fitted for a
mob. Nevertheless, the women especially — many of
them with children in their arms, or even at the breast
— ^were the most resolute in forcing their way; and
their shrill exclamations of complaint or objurga-
tion were heard loud above the more jovial and mas-
culine voices. Yet, amidst them was a young and girl-
ish voice, that appeared to come from one too happy in
her excitement to be alive to the inconvenience of the
crowd.
" Aha ! " cried the young woman, to some of her
companions. " I always told you so ; I always said we
should have a man for the lion ; and now we have one
for the tiger too ! I wish to-morrow were come ! "
«
Ho! ho! for the merry, merry show,
With a forest of faces in every row!
Lo, the swordsmen, bold as the son of Alcmena,
Sweep, side by side, o'er the hush'd arena;
Talk while you may — ^you will hold your breath
When they meet in the grasp of the glowing death.
Tramp, tramp, how gaily they go!
Ho ! ho ! for the merry, merry show I "
u
u
A jolly girl ! " said Sosia.
Yes," replied the young artificer, a curly-headed,
handsome youth. " Yes," replied he, enviously ; " the
women love a gladiator. If I had been a slave, I would
have soon found my schoolmaster in the lanista ! "
" Would you indeed ? " said Sosia, with a sneer.
" Peoples notions differ."
The crowd had now arrived at the place of destina-
tion ; but as the cell in which the wild beasts were con-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 455
fined was extremely small and narrow, tenfold more
vehement than it hitherto had been was the rush of
the aspirants to obtain admittance. Two of the officers
of the amphitheatre, placed at the entrance, very
wisely mitigated the evil by dispensing to the foremost
only a limited number of tickets at a time, and admit-
ting no new visitors till their predecessors had sated
their curiosity. Sosia, who was a tolerably stout fel-
low, and not troubled with any remarkable scruples of
diffidence or good-breeding, contrived to be among
the first of the initiated.
Separated from his companion the artificer, Sosia
found himself in a narrow cell of oppressive heat and
atmosphere, and lighted by several rank and flaring
torches.
The animals, usually kept in different vivaria, or
dens, were now, for the greater entertainment of the
visitors, placed in one, but equally indeed divided from
each other by strong cages protected by iron bars.
There they were, the fell and grim wanderers of the
desert, who have now become almost the principal
agents of this story. The lion, who, as being the more
gentle by nature than his fellow-beast, had been more
incited to ferocity by hunger, stalked restlessly and
fiercely to and fro his narrow confines : his eyes were
lurid with rage and famine: and as, every now and
then, he paused and glared around, the spectators
fearfully pressed backward, and drew their breath
more quickly. But the tiger lay quiet and extended at
full length in his cage, and only by an occasional play
of his tail, or a long impatient yawn, testified any emo-
tion at his confinement, or at the crowd which hon-
oured him with their presence.
" I have seen no fiercer beast than yon lion even in
456 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the amphitheatre of Rome," said a gigantic and sinewy
fellow who stood at the right hand of Sosia.
" I feel humbled when I look at his limbs," replied,
at the left of Sosia, a slighter and younger figure, with
his arms folded on his breast.
The slave looked first at one, and then at the other.
" Virtus in medio! — virtue is ever in the middle! " mut-
tered he to himself ; " a goodly neighbourhood for
thee, Sosia — a gladiator on each side ! "
" That is well said, Lydon," returned the huger
gladiator ; " I feel the same."
" And to think," observed Lydon, in a tone of deep
feeling, " to think that the noble Greek, he whom we
saw but a day or two since before us, so full of youth,
and health, and joyousness, is to feast yon monster ! "
" Why not ? " growled Niger, savagely ; " many an
honest gladiator has been compelled to a like combat
by the emperor — why not a wealthy murderer by the
law ? "
Lydon sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and remained
silent. Meanwhile the common gazers listened with
staring eyes and lips apart: the gladiators were ob-
jects of interest as well as the beasts — ^they were ani-
mals of the same species ; so the crowd glanced from
one to the other — the men and the brutes : — ^whispering
their comments and anticipating the morrow.
" Well ! " said Lydon, turning away, " I thank the
gods that it is not the lion or the tiger / am to contend
with; even you, Niger, are a gentler combatant than
they."
" But equally dangerous," said the gladiator with a
fierce laugh; and the bystanders, admiring his vast
limbs and ferocious countenance, laughed too.
" That as it may be," answered Lydon, carelessly, as
he pressed through the throng and quitted the den.
<<
«
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 457
" I may as well take advantage of his shoulders,"
thought the prudent Sosia, hastening to follow him:
" the crowd always give way to a gladiator, so I will
keep close behind, and come in for a share of his con-
sequence/'
The son of Medon strode quickly through the mob,
many of whom recognised his features and profession.
" That is young Lydon, a brave fellow ; he fights
to-morrow," said one.
" Ah ! I have a bet on him," said another ; " see how
firmly he walks ! "
Good luck to thee, Lydon ! '* said a third.
Lydon, you have my wishes," half whispered a
fourth, smiling (a comely woman of the middle class)
— " and if you win, why, you may hear more of me."
" A handsome man, by Venus ! " cried a fifth, who
was a girl scarce in her teens.
" Thank you," returned Sosia, gravely taking the
compliment to himself.
However strong the purer motives of Lydon, and
certain though it be that he would never have entered
so bloody a calling but from the hope of obtaining his
father's freedom, he was not altogether unmoved by
the notice he excited. He forgot that the voices now
raised in commendation might, on the morrow, shout
over his death-pangs. By nature fierce and reckless,
as well as generous and warm-hearted, he was already
imbued with the pride of a profession that he fancied
he disdained, and affected by the influence of a com-
panionship that in reality he loathed. He saw him-
self now a man of importance; his step grew yet
lighter, and his mien more elate.
" Niger," said he turning suddenly, as he had now
threaded the crowd ; " we have often quarrelled ; we
458 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
are not matched against each other, but one of us, at
least, may reasonably expect to fall — give us thy hand."
" Most readily," said Sosia, extendinghis palm.
" Ha ! what fool is this ? Why, I thought Niger was
at my heels ! "
" I forgive the mistake," replied Sosia, condescend-
ingly ; " don't mention it ; the error was easy — I and
Niger are somewhat of the same build."
" Ha ! ha ! that is excellent ! Niger would have slit
thy throat had he heard thee ! "
" You gentlemen of the arena have a most disagree-
able mode of talking," said Sosia : " let us change the
conversation."
" Vah! vah! " said Lydon, impatiently ; " I am in no
humour to converse with thee ! "
" Why, truly," returned the slave, " you must have
serious thoughts enough to occupy your mind : to-mor-
row is, I think, your first essay in the arena. Well, I
am sure you will die bravely."
" May thy words fall on thine own head ! " said Ly-
don, superstitiously, for he by no means liked the
blessing of Sosia. " Die! No — I trust my hour is not
yet come."
" He who plays at dice with death must expect the
dog's throw," replied Sosia, maliciously. " But you
are a strong fellow, and I wish you all imaginable luck ;
and so, vale! "
With that the slave turned on his heel, and took his
way homeward.
" I trust the rogue's words are not ominous," said
Lydon, musingly. " In my zeal for my father's lib-
erty, and my confidence in my own thews and sinews,
I have not contemplated the possibility of death. My
poor father 1 I am thy only sonl — ^if I were to
fall "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 459
As the thought crossed him, the gladiator strode on
with a more rapid and restless pace, when suddenly, in
an opposite street, he beheld the very object of his
thoughts. Leaning on his stick, his form bent by care
tind age, his eyes downcast, and his steps trembling,
the grey-haired Medon slowly approached towards the
gladiator. Lydon paused a moment: he divined at
once the cause that brought forth the old man at that
late hour.
" Be sure, it is I whom he seeks," thought he ; " he is
horror-struck at the condemnation of Olinthus — ^he
more than ever esteems the arena criminal and hateful
— he comes again to dissuade me from the contest. I
must shun him — I cannot brook his prayers — ^his
tears."
These thoughts, so long to recite, flashed across the
young man like lightning. He turned abruptly and
fled swiftly in an opposite direction. He paused not
till, almost spent and breathless, he found himself on
the summit of a small acclivity which overlooked the
most gay and splendid part of that miniature city;
and as he there paused, and gazed along the tranquil
streets glittering in the rays of the moon (which had
just arisen, and brought partially and picturesquely
into light the crowd around the amphitheatre at a dis-
tance, murmuring, and swaying to and fro), the in-
fluence of* the scene affected him, rude and unimagi-
native though his nature. He sat himself down to rest
upon the steps of a deserted portico, and felt the calm
of the hour quiet and restore him. Opposite and near
at hand, the lights gleamed from a palace in which the
master now held his revels. The doors were open for
coolness, and the gladiator beheld the numerous and
460 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
festive group gathered round the tables in the atrium ; *
while behind them, closing the long vista of the il-
lumined rooms beyond, the spray of the distant foun-
tain sparkled in the moonbeams. There, the garlands
wreathed around the columns of the hall — there,
gleamed still and frequent the marble statue — there,
amidst peals of jocimd laughter, rose the music and
the lay.
EPICUREAN SONG
«
<(
Away with your stories of Hades,
Which the Flamen has forged to affright us,-
We laugh at your three Maiden Ladies,
Your fates, and your sullen Cocytus.
Poor Jove has a troublesome life, sir.
Could we credit your tales of his portals —
In shutting his ears on his wife, sir,
And opening his eyes upon mortals.
" Oh, blest be the bright Epicurus !
Who taught us to laugh at such fables;
On Hades they wanted to moor us.
And his hand cut the terrible cables.
** If, then, there's a Jove or a Juno,
They vex not their heads about us, man;
Besides, if they did, I and you know
'Tis the life of a god to live thus, man !
((
What! think you the gods place their bliss— eh?—
In playing the spy on a sinner? ,
In counting the girls that we kiss, eh?
Or the cups that we empty at dinner?
* Content with the soft lips that love us,
This music, this wine, and this mirth, boys,
'We care not for gods up above us, —
We know there's no god for this earth, boys !
»
1 In the atrium, as I have elsewhere observed, a larger party
of guests than ordinary was frequently entertained.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 461
While Ly don's piety (which, accommodating as it
might be, was in no slight degree disturbed by these
verses, which embodied the fashionable philosophy of
the day) slowly recovered itself from the shock it had
received, a small party of men, in plain garments and
of the middle class, passed by his resting-place. They
were in earnest conversation, and did not seem to no-
tice or heed the gladiator as they moved on.
** O horror on horrors I " said one ; " Olinthus is
snatched from us I our right arm is lopped away!
When will Christ descend to protect His own ? "
" Can human atrocity go farther ? " said another :
" to sentence an innocent man to the same arena as a
murderer! But let us not despair; the thunder of
Sin^i may yet be heard, and the Lord preserve His
saint. ' The fool has said in his heart, There is no
God.' "
At that moment out broke again, from the illumined
palace, the burden of the revellers' song : —
" We care not for gods up above us, —
We know there's no god for this earth, boys ! " ^
Ere the words died away, the Nazarenes, moved by
sudden indignation, caught up the echo, and, in the
words of one of their favourite hymns, shouted aloud —
THE WARNING HYMN OF THE NAZARENES
" Around — about — ^for ever near thee,
God — OUR God — shall mark and hear thee!
On His car of storm He sweeps!
Bow, ye heavens, and shrink, ye deeps!
Woe to the proud ones who defy Him! —
Woe to the dreamers who deny Him!
Woe to the wicked, woe!
' See note {a) at the end
463 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The proud stars shall fail —
The sun shall grow pale —
The heavens shrivel up like a scroll —
Heirs ocean shall bare
Its depths of despair,
Each wave an eternal soul!
For the only thing, then.
That shall not live again
Is the corpse of the giant Time.
Hark, the trumpet of thunder!
Lo, earth rent asunder!
And, forth, on his Angel-throne,
He conies through the gloom,
The Judge of the Tomb,
To summon and save His own!
Oh, joy to Care, and woe to Crime,
He comes to save His own!
Woe to the proud ones who defy Him !
Woe to the dreamers who deny Him !
Woe to the wicked, woe ! "
A sudden silence from the startled hall of revel suc-
ceeded these ominous words : the Christians swept on,
and were soon hidden from the sight of the gladiator.
Awed, he scarce knew why, by the mystic denuncia-
tions of the Christians, Lydon, after a short pause, now
rose to pursue his way homeward.
Before him, how serenely slept the starlight on that
lovely city! how breathlessly its pillared streets re-
posed in their security ! — how softly rippled the dark-
green waves beyond I — ^how cloudless spread, aloft and
blue, the dreaming Campanian skies ! Yet this was the
last night for the gay Pompeii ! the colony of the hoar
Chaldean! the fabled city of Hercules! the delight of
the voluptuous Roman ! Age after age had rolled, in-
destructive, unheeded, over its head ; and now the last
ray quivered on the dial-plate of its doom! Th^
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 463
gladiator heard some light steps behind — z group of
females were wending homeward from their visit to
the amphitheatre. As he turned, his eye was arrested
by a strange and sudden apparition. From the sum-
mit of Vesuvius darkly visible at the distance, there
shot a pale, meteoric, livid light — it trembled an in-
stant and was gone. And at the same moment that his
eye caught it, the voice of one of the youngest of the
women broke out hilariously and shrill : —
** Tramp ! Tramp ! how gaily they go !
ho^ ho ! for the morrow's merry show 1 "
BOOK V
Stat ecce ad aras hostia, expectat manum
Cervice prona. — Senec.
Before the altars, lo, the victim stands,
And waits with bended neck the fatal blow.
Mutatus ordo est — sede nil propria jacet,
Sed acta retro cuncta. — Ibid.
The appointed order changes ! nought remains
In the allotted ranks, but backward rolls
The tide of acted things.
Tempore quanquam illo tellus quoque, et aequora ponte
Signa dabant. — Virgil: Georgic. lib. i.
In the same time, the earth and surging seas
Gave signal!
CHAPTER I
THE DREAM OF ARBACES. — A VISITOR AND A WARNING
TO THE EGYPTIAN.
The awful night preceding the fierce joy of the am-
phitheatre rolled drearily away, and greyly broke
forth the dawn of the last day of Pompeii! The
air was uncommonly calm and sultry — a thin and dull
mist gathered over the valleys and hollows of the
broad Campanian fields. But yet it was remarked in
surprise by the early fishermen, that, despite the ex-
ceeding stillness of the atmosphere, the waves of the
sea were agitated, and seemed, as it were, to run dis-
4^
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 465
turbedly back from the share ; while along the blue and
stately Sarnus, whose ancient breadth of channel the
traveller now vainly seeks to discover, there crept a
hoarse and sullen murmur, as it glided by the laugh-
ing plains and the gaudy villas of the wealthy citizens.
Clear above the low mist rose the time-worn towers
of the immemorial town, the red-tiled roofs of the
bright streets, the solemn columns of many temples,
and the statue-crowned portals of the Forum and the
Arch of Triumph. Far in the distance, the outline of
the circling hills soared above the vapours, and min-
gled with the changeful hues of the morning sky. The
cloud that had so long rested over the crest of Ve-
suvius had suddenly vanished, and its rugged and
haughty brow looked without a frown over the beauti-
ful scenes below.
Despite the earliness of the hour, the gates of the
city were already opened. Horsemen upon horsemen,
vehicle after vehicle, poured rapidly in ; and the voices
of numerous pedestrian groups, clad in holiday attire,
rose high in joyous and excited merriment; the streets
were crowded with citizens and strangers from the
populous neighbourhood of Pompeii; and noisily —
fast — confusedly swept the many streams of life tow-
ards the fatal show.
Despite the vast size of the amphitheatre, seemingly
so disproportioned to the extent of the city, and formed
to include nearly the whole population of Pompeii it-
self, so great, on extraordinary occasions, was the
concourse of strangers from all parts of Campania,
that the space before it was usually crowded for sev-
eral hours previous to the commencement of the sports,
by such persons as were not entitled by their rank to
appointed and special seats. And the intense curiosity
30
466 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
which the trial and sentence of two criminals so re-
markable had occasioned, increased the crowd on this
day to an extent wholly unprecedented.
While the common people, with the lively vehemence
of their Campanian blood, were thus pushing, scram-
bling, hurrying on, — ^yet, amidst all their eagerness
preserving, as is now the wont with Italians in such
meetings, a wonderful order and unquarrelsome good-
humour, a strange visitor to Arbaces was threading her
way to his sequestered mansion. At the sight of her
quaint and primaeval garb — of her wild gait and gest-
ures— the passengers she encountered touched each
other and smiled ; but as they caught a glimpse of her
countenance, the mirth was hushed at once, for the
face was as the face of the dead ; and, what with the
ghastly features and obsolete robes of the stranger, it
seemed as if one long entombed had risen once more
amongst the living. In silence and awe each group
gave way as she passed along, and she soon gained the
broad porch of the Egyptian's palace.
The black porter, like the rest of the world, astir at
an unusual hour, started as he opened the door to her
summons.
The sleep of the Egyptian had been unusually pro-
found during the night ; but, as the dawn approached,
it was disturbed by strange and unquiet dreams, which
impressed him the more as they were coloured by the
peculiar philosophy he embraced.
He thought that he was transported to the bowels
of the earth, and that he stood alone in a mighty cav-
ern, supported by enormous columns of rough and
primaeval rock, lost, as they ascended, in the vastness
of a shadow athwart whose eternal darkness no beam
of day had ever glanced. And in the space between
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 467
these columns were huge wheels, that whirled round
and round unceasingly, and with a rushing and roar-
ing noise. Only to the right and lelt extremities of
the cavern, the space between the pillars was left bare,
and the apertures stretched away into the galleries —
not wholly dark, but dimly lighted by wandering and
erratic fires, that, meteor-like, now crept (as the snake
creeps) along the rugged and dank soil; and now
leaped fiercely to and fro, darting across the vast gloom
in wild gambols — ^suddenly disappearing, and as sud-
denly bursting into tenfold brilliancy and power. And
while he gazed wonderingly upon the gallery to the
left, thin, mist-like, aerial shapes passed slowly up;
and when they had gained the hall they seemed to rise
aloft, and to vanish, as the smoke vanishes, in the
measureless ascent.
He turned in fear towards the opposite extremity —
and behold ! there came swiftly from the gloom above,
similar shadows, which swept hurriedly along the gal-
lery to the right, as if borne involuntarily adown the
tides of some invisible stream; and the faces of these
spectres were more distinct than those that emerged
from the opposite passage ; and on some was joy, and
on others sorrow — some were vivid with expectation
and hope, some unutterably dejected by awe and hor-
ror. And so they passed, swift and constantly on, till
the eyes of the gazer grew dizzy and blinded with the
whirl of an ever-varying succession of things impelled
by a power apparently not their own.
Arbaces turned away, and, in the recess of the hall,
he saw the mighty form of a giantess seated upon a
pile of skulls, and her hands were busy upon a pale
and shadowy woof; and he saw that the woof com-
municated with the numberless wheels, as if it guided
(t
468 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the machinery of their movements. He thought his
feet, by some secret agency, were impelled towards the
female, and that he was borne onwards till he stood
before her, face to face. The countenance of the
giantess was solemn and hushed, and beautifully se-
rene. It was as the face of some colossal sculpture of
his own ancestral sphinx. No passion — no human
emotion, disturbed its brooding and unwrinkled brow :
there was neither sadness, nor joy, nor memory, nor
hope : it was free from all with which the wild human
heart can sympathise. The mystery of mysteries
rested on its beauty, — it awed, but terrified not : it was
the Incarnation of the Sublime. And Arbaces felt the
voice leave his lips, without an impulse of his own;
and the voice asked —
Who art thou, and what is thy task ? "
I am That which thou hast acknowledged," an-
swered, without desisting from its work, the mighty
phantom. " My name is Nature 1 These are the
wheels of the world, and my hand guides them for the
life of all things."
" And what," said the voice of Arbaces, " are these
galleries, that strangely and fitly illumined, stretch on
either hand into the abyss of gloom ? "
"That," answered the giant mother, "which thou
beholdest to the left, is the gallery of the Unborn.
The shadows that flit onward and upward into the
world, are the souls that pass from the long eternity
of being to their destined pilgrimage on earth. That
which thou beholdest to thy right, wherein the shad-
ows descending from above sweep on, equally un-
known and dim, is the gallery of the dead ! "
" And, wherefore," said the voice of Arbaces, " yon
wandering lights, that so wildly break the darkness;
but only break, not reveal f "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 469
" Dark fool of the human sciences ! dreamer of the
stars, and would-be decipherer of the heart and origin
of things ! those lights are but the glimmerings of such
knowledge as is vouchsafed to Nature to work her
way, to trace enough of the past and future to give
providence to her designs. Judge, then, puppet as thou
art, what lights are reserved for thee ! "
Arbacds felt himself tremble as he asked again,
" Wherefore am I here ? "
" It is the forecast of thy soul — the prescience of
the rushing doom — the shadow of thy fate lengthening
into eternity as it declines from earth."
Ere he could answer, Arbaces felt a rushing wind
sweep down the cavern, as the wings of a giant god.
Borne aloft from the ground, and whirled on high as
a leaf in*- the storms of autumn, he beheld himself in
the midst of the Spectres of the Dead, and hurrying
with them along the length of gloom. As in vain and
impotent despair he struggled against the impelling
power, he thought the wind grew into something like
a shape — a spectral outline of the wings and talons of
an eagle, with limbs floating far and indistinctly along
the air, and eyes that, alone clearly and vividly seen,
glared stonily and remorselessly on his own.
" What art thou ? " again said the voice of the Egyp-
tian.
" I am That which thou hast acknowledged ; " and
the spectre laughed aloud — " and my name is Neces-
sity."
" To what dost thou bear me ? "
" To the Unknown."
" To happiness or to woe? "
" As thou hast sown, so shalt thou reap."
"Dread thing, not so! If thou art the Ruler of
Life, thine are my misdeeds, not mine."
470 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" I am but the breath of God 1 " answered the mighty
WIND.
" Then is my wisdom vain 1 " groaned the dreamer.
" The husbandman accuses not fate, when, having
sown thistles, he reaps not com. Thou hast sown
crime, accuse not fate if thou reapest not the harvest
of virtue."
The scene suddenly changed. Arbaces was in a
place of human bones ; and lo ! in the midst of them
was a skull, and the skull, still retaining its fleshless
hollows, assumed slowly, and in the mysterious con-
fusion of a dream, the face of Apaecides, and forth
from the grinning jaws there crept a small worm, and
it crawled to the feet of Arbaces. He attempted to
stamp on it and crush it; but it became longer and
larger with that attempt. It swelled and bloated till
it grew into a vast serpent; it coiled itself round the
limbs of Arbaces; it crunched his bones; it raised its
glaring eyes and poisonous jaws to his face. He
writhed in vain ; he withered — he gasped — ^beneath the
influence of the blighting breath — he felt himself
blasted into death. And then a voice came from the
reptile, which still bore the face of Apaecides, and rang
in his reeling ear, —
" Thy victim is thy judge ! the worm thou
wouldst crush becomes the serpent that devours
THEE ! "
With a shriek of wrath, and woe, and despairing
resistance, Arbaces awoke — his hair on end — ^his brow
bathed in dew — ^his eyes glazed and staring — ^his
mighty frame quivering as an infant's, beneath the
agony of that dream. He awoke — he collected him-
self— he blessed the gods whom he disbelieved, that
he was in a dream; — ^he turned his eyes from side to
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 47i
side — ^he saw the dawning light break through his
small but lofty window — he was in the Precincts of
Day — he rejoiced — he smiled; — his eyes fell, and op-
posite to him he beheld the ghastly features, the life-
less eye, the livid lip — of the hag of Vesuvius !
" Ha ! " he cried, placing his hands before his eyes,
as to shut out the grisly vision, " do I dream still ? —
Am I with the dead ? "
" Mighty Hermes — ^no I Thou art with one death-
like, but not dead. Recognise thy friend and slave."
There was a long silence. Slowly the shudders that
passed over the limbs of the Egyptian chased each
other away, faintlier and faintlier dying till he was
himself again.
" It was a dream, then," said he. "Well— let me
dream no more, or the day cannot compensate for the
pangs of night. Woman, how camest thou here, and
wherefore ? "
" I came to warn thee," answered the sepulchral
voice of the Saga.
" Warn me ! The dream lied not, then ? Of what
peril?"
" Listen to me. Some evil hangs over this fated
city. Fly while it be time. Thou knowest that I hold
my home on that mountain beneath which old tradi-
tion saith there yet bum the fires of the river of
Phlegethon ; and in my cavern is a vast abyss, and in
that abyss I have of late marked a red and dull stream
creep slowly, slowly on; and heard many and mighty
sounds hissing and roaring through the gloom. But
last night, as I looked thereon, behold the stream was
no longer dull, but intensely and fiercely luminous;
and while I gazed, the beast that liveth with me, and
was cowering by my side, uttered a shrill howl, and
472 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
fell down and died,* and the slaver and froth were
round his lips. I crept back to my lair ; but I distinctly
heard, all the night, the rock shake and tremble ; and,
though the air was heavy and still, there were the hiss-
ing of pent winds and the grinding as of wheels be-
neath the ground. So, when I rose this morning at
the very birth of dawn, I looked again down the abyss,
and I saw vast fragments of stone borne black and
floatingly over the lurid stream ; and the stream itself
was broader, fiercer, redder than the night before.
Then I went forth and ascended to the summit of the
rock : and in that summit there appeared a sudden and
vast hollow, which I had never perceived before, from
which curled a dim, faint smoke ; and the vapour was
deathly, and I gasped, and sickened, and nearly died.
I returned home. I took my gold and my drugs, and
left the habitation of many years; for I remembered
the dark Etruscan prophecy which saith, * When the
mountain opens the city shall fall — ^when the smoke
crowns the Hill of the Parched Fields, there shall be
woe and weeping in the hearths of the Children of the
Sea.' Dread master, ere I leave these walls for some
more distant dwelling, I come to thee. As thou livest,
know I in my heart that the earthquake that sixteen
years ago shook this city to its solid base, was but the
forerunner of more deadly doom. The walls of Pom-
peii are built above the fields of the Dead, and the
rivers of the sleepless Hell. Be warned and fly ! "
" Witch, I thank thee for thy care of one not un-
grateful. On yon table stands a cup of gold ; take it,
it is thine. I dreamt not that there lived one, out of
the priesthood of Isis, who would have saved Arbaces
1 We may suppose that the exhalations were similar in effect
to those of the Grotta del Cane,
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 473
from destruction. The signs thou hast seen in the bed
of the extinct volcano," continued the Egyptian, mus-
ingly, " surely tell of some coming danger to the city ;
perhaps another earthquake fiercer than the last. Be
that as it may, there is a new reason for my hastening
from these walls. After this day I will prepare my
departure. Daughter of Etruria, whither wendest
thou ? "
" I shall cross over to Herculaneum this day, and,
wandering thence along the coast, shall seek out a new
home. I am friendless: my two companions, the fox
and the snake, are dead. Great Hermes, thou hast
promised me twenty additional years of life ! "
" Ay," said the Egyptian, " I have promised thee.
But, woman," he added, lifting himself upon his arm,
and gazing curiously on her face, " tell me, I pray thee,
wherefore thou wishest to live? What sweets dost
thou discover in existence ? "
" It is not life that is sweet, but death that is awful,"
replied the hag, in a sharp, impressive tone, that
struck forcibly upon the heart of the vain star-seer.
He winced at the truth of the reply; and, no longer
anxious to retain so uninviting a companion, he said,
" Time wanes ; I must prepare for the solemn specta-
cle of this day. Sister, farewell ! enjoy thyself as thou
canst over the ashes of life."
The hag, who had placed the costly gift of Arbaces
in the loose folds of her vest, now rose to depart.
When she had gained the door she paused, turned back
and said, " This may be the last time we meet on earth ;
but whither flieth the flame when it leaves the ashes?
— Wandering to and fro, up and down, as an exhala-
tion on the morass, the flame may be seen in the
marshes of the lake below; and the witch and the
474 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Magian, the pupil and the master, the great one and
the accursed one, may meet again. Farewell I '*
" Out, croaker ! " muttered Arbaces, as the door
closed on the hag's tattered robes; and, impatient of
his own thoughts, not yet recovered from the past
dream, he hastily summoned his slaves.
It was the custom to attend the ceremonials of the
amphitheatre in festive robes, and Arbaces arrayed
himself that day with more than usual care. His
tunic was of the most dazzling white ; his many fibulae
were formed from the most precious stones: over his
tunic flowed a loose eastern robe, half-gown, half-
mantle, glowing in the richest hues of the Tyrian dye ;
and the sandals, that reached half-way up the knee,
were studded with gems, and inlaid with gold. In the
quackeries that belonged to his priestly genius, Ar-
baces never neglected, on great occasions, the arts
which dazzle and impose upon the vulgar ; and on this
day, that was for ever to release him, by the sacrifices
of Glaucus, from the fear of a rival and the chance of
detection, he felt that he was arraying himself as for
a triumph or a nuptial feast.
It was customary for men of rank to be accompanied
to the shows of the amphitheatre by a procession of
their slaves and f reedmen ; and the long " family " of
Arbaces were already arranged in order, to attend the
litter of their lord.
Only, to their great chagrin, the slaves in attendance
on lone, and the worthy Sosia, as gaoler to Nydia,
were condemned to remain at home.
" Callias," said Arbaces, apart to his freedman, who
was buckling on his girdle, " I am weary of Pompeii ;
I propose to quit it in three days, should the wind fa-
vour. Thou knowest the vessel that lies in the har-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 475
hour which belonged to Narses of Alexandria ; I have
purchased it of him. The day after to-morrow we
shall begin to remove my stores."
" So soon ! Tis well. Arbaces shall be obeyed ; —
and his ward, lone ? "
" Accompanies me. Enough ! — is the morning
fair?"
" Dim and oppressive ; it will probably be intensely
hot in the forenoon."
"The poor gladiators, and more wretched crimi-
nals ! Descend, and see that the slaves are marshalled."
Left alone, Arbaces stepped into his chamber of
study, and thence upon the portico without. He saw
the dense masses of men pouring fast into the am-
phitheatre, and heard the cry of the assistants, and the
cracking of the cordage, as they were straining aloft
the huge awning under which the citizens, molested by
no discomforting ray, were to behold, at luxurious
ease, the agonies of their fellow-creatures. Suddenly
a wild, strange sound went forth, and as suddenly died
away — it was the roar of the lion. There was a silence
in the distant crowd ; but the silence was followed by
joyous laughter — ^they were making merry at the hun-
gry impatience of the royal beast.
" Brutes ! " muttered the disdainful Arbaces, " are
ye less homicides than I am ? / slay but in self-defence
— ye make murder pastime."
He turned, with a restless and curious eye, towards
Vesuvius. Beautifully glowed the green vineyards
round its breast, and tranquil as eternity lay in the
breathless skies the form of the mighty hill.
" We have time yet, if the earthquake be nursing,"
thought Arbaces; and he turned from the spot. He
passed by the table which bore his mystic scrolls and
Chaldean calculations.
476 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" August art ! " he thought, " I have not consulted
thy decrees since I passed the danger and the crisis
they foretold. What matter ? — I know that henceforth
all in my path is bright and smooth. Have not events
already proved it? Away, doubt — away, pity! Re-
flect, O my heart — reflect, for the future, but two
images — Empire and lone ! "
CHAPTER II
THE AMPHITHEATRE.
Nydia, assured by the account of Sosia, on his re-
turn home, and satisfied that her letter was in the
hands of Sallust, gave herself up once more to hope.
Sallust would surely lose no time in seeking the praetor
— in coming to the house of the Egyptian — in releas-
ing her — in breaking the prison of Calenus. That very
night Glaucus would be free. Alas ! the night passed
— the dawn broke ; she heard nothing but the hurried
footsteps of the slaves along the hall and peristyle, and
their voices in preparation for the show. By and by,
the commanding voice of Arbaces broke on her ear —
a flourish of music rang out cheerily : the long proces-
sion were sweeping to the amphitheatre to glut their
eyes on the death-pangs of the Athenian !
The procession of Arbaces moved along slowly, and
with much solemnity, till now, arriving at the place
where it was necessary for such as came in litters or
chariots to alight, Arbaces descended from his vehicle,
and proceeded to the entrance by which the more dis-
tinguished spectators were admitted. His slaves,
mingling with the humbler crowd, were stationed by
officers who received their tickets (not much unlike
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 477
our modern opera ones), in places in the popularia
(the seats apportioned to the vulgar). And now, from
the spot where Arbaces sat, his eyes scanned the
mighty and impatient crowd that filled the stupendous
theatre.
On the upper tier (but apart from the male specta-
tors) sat the women, their gay dresses resembling
some gaudy flower-bed ; it is needless to add that they
were the most talkative part of the assembly; and
many were the looks directed up to them, especially
from the benches appropriated to the young and the
unmarried men. On the lower seats round the arena
sat the more high-born and wealthy visitors — the mag-
istrates and those of senatorial or equestrian ^ dignity :
the passages which, by corridors at the right and left,
gave access to these seats, at either end of the oval
arena, were also the entrances for the combatants.
Strong palings at these passages prevented any un-
welcome eccentricity in the movements of the beasts,
and confined them to their appointed prey. Around
the parapet which was raised above the arena, and
from which the seats gradually rose, were gladiatorial
inscriptions, and paintings wrought in fresco, typical
of the entertainments for which the place was de-
signed, throughout the whole building wound in-
visible pipes, from which, as the day advanced, cool-
ing and fragrant showers were to be sprinkled over the
spectators. The officers of the amphitheatre were still
employed in the task of fixing the vast awning (or
velaria) which covered the whole, and which luxurious
invention the Campanians arrogated to themselves: it
was woven of the whitest Apulian wool, and variegated
with broad stripes of crimson. Owing either to some
1 The equites sat immediately behind the senators.
478 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
inexperience on the part of the workmen, or to some
defect in the machinery, the awning, however, was not
arranged that day so happily as usual ; indeed, from the
immense space of the circumference, the task was al-
ways one of great difficulty and art — so much so, that
it could seldom be adventured in rough or windy
weather. But the present day was so remarkably still
that there seemed to the spectators no excuse for the
awkwardness of the artificers ; and when a large gap in
the back of the awning was still visible, from the ob-
stinate refusal of one part of the velaria to ally itself
with the rest, the murmurs of discontent were loud and
general.
The aedile Pansa, at whose expense the exhibition
was given, looked particularly annoyed at the defect,
and vowed bitter vengeance on the head of the chief
officer of the show, who, fretting, puffing, perspiring,
busied himself in idle orders and unavailing threats.
The hubbub ceased suddenly — ^the operators de-
sisted— the crowd were stilled — ^the gap was forgotten
— for now, with a loud and warlike flourish of trum-
pets, the gladiators, marshalled in ceremonious pro-
cession, entered the arena. They swept round the oval
space very slowly and deliberately, in order to give the
spectators full leisure to admire their stem serenity of
feature — ^their brawny limbs and various arms, as well
as to form such wagers as the excitement of the mo-
ment might suggest.
" Oh ! " cried the widow Fulvia to the wife of Pansa,
as they leaned down from their lofty bench, " do you
see that gigantic gladiator ? how drolly he is dressed ! "
"Yes," said the aedile's wife, with complacent im-
portance, for she knew all the names and qualities of
each combatant; "he is a retiarius or netter; he is
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 479
armed only, you see, with a three-pronged spear like
a trident, and a net ; he wears no armour, only the fillet
and the tunic. He is a mighty man, and is to fight with
Sporus, yon thick-set gladiator, with the round shield
and drawn sword, but without body armour; he has
not his helmet on now, in order that you may see his
face — how fearless it is! — by and by he will fight with
his vizor down."
" But surely a net and a spear are poor arms against
a shield and sword ? "
" That shows how innocent you are, my dear Fulvia ;
the retiarius has generally the best of it."
" But who is yon handsome gladiator, nearly naked
— is it not quite improper ? By Venus ! but his limbs
are beautifully shaped ! "
" It is Lydon, a young untried man ! he has the rash-
ness to fight yon other gladiator similarly dressed, or
rather undressed — Tetraides. They fight first in the
Greek fashion, with the cestus ; afterwards they put on
armour, and try sword and shield."
" He is a proper man, this Lydon ; and the women,
I am sure, are on his side."
" So are not the experienced betters ; Clodius offers
three to one against him."
" Oh, Jove ! how beautiful ! " exclaimed the widow,
as two gladiators, armed cap-d-pie, rode round the
arena on light and prancing steeds. Resembling much
the combatants in the tilts of the middle ages, they
bore lances and round shields beautifully inlaid : their
armour was woven intricately with bands of iron, but
covered only the thighs and the right arms; short
cloaks extending to the seat, gave a picturesque and
graceful air to their costume ; their legs were naked,
with the exception of sandals, which were fastened a
48o THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
little above the ankle. "Oh beautiful! Who are
these ? " asked the widow.
"The one is named Berbix — he has conquered
twelve times ; the other assumes the arrogant name of
Nobilior. They are both Gauls."
While thus conversing, the first formalities of the
show were over. To these succeeded a feigned combat
with wooden swords between the various gladiators
matched against each other. Amongst these, the skill
of two Roman gladiators, hired for the occasion, was
the most admired; and next to them the most grace-
ful combatant was Lydon. This sham contest did not
last above an hour, nor did it attract any very lively
interest, except among those connoisseurs of the arena
to whom art was preferable to more coarse excite-
ment ; the body of the spectators were rejoiced when it
was over, and when the sympathy rose to terror. The
combatants were now arranged in pairs, as agreed be-
forehand; their weapons examined; and the grave
sports of the day commenced amidst the deepest si-
lence— ^broken only by an exciting and preliminary
blast of warlike music.
It was often customary to begin the sports by the
most cruel of all, and some bestiarius, or gladiator ap-
pointed to the beasts, was slain first, as an initiatory
sacrifice. But in the present instance, the experienced
Pansa thought it better that the sanguinary drama
should advance, not decrease, in interest ; and, accord-
ingly, the execution of Olinthus and Glaucus was re-
served for the last. It was arranged that the two
horsemen should first occupy the arena ; that the foot
gladiators, paired off, should then be loosed indis-
criminately on the stage; that Glaucus and the lion
should next perform their part in the bloody spectacle ;
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 481
and the tiger and the Nazarene be the grand finale.
And, in the spectacles of Pompeii, the reader of Ro-
man history must limit his imagination, nor expect to
find those vast and wholesale exhibitions of magnificent
slaughter with which a Nero or a Caligula regaled the
inhabitants of the Imperial City. The Roman shows,
which absorbed the more celebrated gladiators, and
the chief proportion of foreign beasts, were indeed the
very reason why, in the lesser towns of the empire,
the sports of the amphitheatre were comparatively hu-
mane and rare ; and in this, as in other respects, Pom-
peii was but the miniature, the microcosm of Rome.
Still, it was an awful and imposing spectacle, with
which modem times have, happily, nothing to com-
pare:— a vast theatre, rising row upon row, and
swarming with human beings, from fifteen to eighteen
thousand in number, intent upon no fictitious represen-
tation— ^no tragedy of the stage — ^but the actual victory
or defeat, the exultant life or the bloody death, of each
and all who entered the arena !
The two horsemen were now at either extremity of
the lists (if so they might be called) ; and, at a given
signal from Pansa, the combatants started simul-
taneously as in full collision, each advancing his round
buckler, each poising on high his light yet sturdy jave-
lin; but just when within three paces of his opponent,
the steed of Berbix suddenly halted, wheeled round,
and, as Nobilior was borne rapidly by, his antagonist
spurred upon him. The buckler of Nobilior, quickly
and skilfully extended, received a blow which other-
wise would have been fatal.
" Well done, Nobilior ! " cried the praetor, giving
the first vent to the popular excitement.
31
482 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Bravely struck, my Berbix ! " answered Clodius
from his seat.
And the wild murmur, swelled by many a shouts
echoed from side to side.
' The vizors of both the horsemen were completely
closed (like those of the knights in after times), but
the head was, nevertheless, the great point of assault ;
and Nobilior, now wheeling his charger with no less
adroitness than his opponent, directed his spear full on
the helmet of his foe. Berbix raised his buckler to
shield himself, and his quick-eyed antagonist, suddenly
lowering his weapon, pierced him through the breast.
Berbix reeled and fell.
Nobilior ! Nobilior ! " shduted the populace.
I have lost ten sestertia," ^ said Clodius, between
his teeth.
" Habet! — ^he has it," said Pansa, deliberately.
The populace, not yet hardened into cruelty, made
the signal of mercy ; but as the attendants of the arena
approached, they found the kindness came too late ; —
the heart of the Gaul had been pierced, and his eyes
were set in death. It was his life's blood that flowed
so darkly over the sand and sawdust of the arena.'
" It is a pity it was so soon over — ^there was little
enough for one's trouble," said the widow Fulvia.
" Yes — I have no compassion for Berbix. Any one
might have seen that Nobilior did but feint. Mark,
they fix the fatal hook to the body — they drag him
away to the spoliarium — ^they scatter new sand over
the stage ! Pansa regrets nothing more than that he is
not rich enough to strew the arena with borax and cin-
nabar, as Nero used to do ! "
" Well, if it has been a brief battle, it is quickly suc-
^ A little more than i8o.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 483
ceeded. See my handsome Lydon on the arena — ^ay,
and the net-bearer too, and the swordsman! Oh
charming ! "
There were now on the arena six combatants : Niger
and his net, matched against Sporus with his shield
and his short broadsword; Lydon and Tetraides,
naked save by a cincture round the waist, each armed
only with a heavy Greek cestus — ^and two gladiators
from Rome clad in complete steel, and evenly matched
with immense bucklers and pointed swords.
The initiatory contest between Lydon and Tetraides
being less deadly than that between the other com-
batants, no sooner had they advanced to the middle of
the arena than, as by common consent, the rest held
back, to see how that contest should be decided, and
wait till fiercer weapons might replace the cestus, ere
they themselves commenced hostilities. They stood
leaning on their arms and apart from each other, gaz-
ing on the show, which, if not bloody enough, thor-
oughly to please the populace, they were still inclined
to admire, because its origin was of their ancestral
Greece.
No person could, at first glance, have seemed less
evenly matched than the two antagonists. Tetraides,
though not taller than Lydon, weighed considerably
more ; the natural size of his muscles was increased, to
the eyes of the vulgar, by masses of solid flesh ; for, as
it was a notion that the contest of the cestus fared
easiest with him who was plumpest, Tetraides had en-
couraged to the utmost his hereditary predisposition
to the portly. His shoulders were vast, and his lower
limbs thick-set, double- jointed, and slightly curved
outward in that formation which takes so much from
beauty to give so largely to strength. But Lydon, ex-
484 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
cept that he was slender even almost to meagreness,
was beautifully and delicately proportioned; and the
skilful might have perceived that, with much less com-
pass of muscle than his foe, that which he had was
more seasoned — iron and compact. In proportion, too,
as he wanted flesh, he was likely to possess activity;
and a haughty smile on his resolute face, which
strongly contrasted the solid heaviness of his enemy's,
gave assurance to those who beheld it, and united their
hope to their pity : so that, despite the disparity of their
seeming strength, the cry of the multitude was nearly
as loud for Lydon as for Tetraides.
Whoever is acquainted with the modem prize-ring
— whoever has witnessed the heavy and disabling
strokes which the human fist, skilfully directed, hath
the power to bestow — may easily understand how
much that happy facility would be increased by a band
carried by thongs of leather round the arm as high as
the elbow, and terribly strengthened about the knuckles
by a plate of iron, and sometimes a plummet of lead.
Yet this, which was meant to increase, perhaps rather
diminished, the interest of the fray: for it necessarily
shortened its duration. A very few blows, successfully
and scientifically planted, might suffice to bring the con-
test to a close ; and the battle did not, therefore, often
allow full scope for the energy, fortitude, and dogged
perseverance, that we technically style plucky which not
unusually wins the day against superior science, and
which heightens to so painful a delight the interest in
the battle and the sympathy for the brave.
" Guard thyself ! " growled Tetraides, moving near-
er and nearer to his foe, who rather shifted round him
than receded.
Lydon did not answer, save by a scornful glance of
tt
it
tt
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 485
his quick, vigilant eye. Tetraides struck — it was as
the blow of a smith on a vice; Lydon sank suddenly
on one knee — ^the blow passed over his head. Not so
harmless was Lydon's retaliation: he quickly sprung
to his feet, and aimed his cestus full on the broad breast
of his antagonist. Tetraides reeled — the populace
shouted.
You are unlucky to-day," said Lepidus to Clodius :
you have lost one bet — ^you will lose another."
By the gods! my bronzes go to the auctioneer if
that is the case. I have no less than a hundred ses-
tertia ^ upon Tetraides. Ha, ha ! see how he rallies !
That was a home stroke, he has cut open Lydon's
shoulder. — A Tetraides ! — a Tetraides ! "
" But Lydon is not disheartened. By Pollux ! how
well he keeps his temper. See how dexterously he
avoids those hammer-like hands !— dodging now here,
now there — circling round and round. Ah, poor Ly-
don I he has it again."
" Three to one still on Tetraides ! What say you,
Lepidus ? "
" Well, nine sestertia to three — ^be it so ! What !
again, Lydon? He stops — ^he gasps for breath. By
the gods, he is down! No — he is again on his legs.
Brave Lydon! Tetraides is encouraged — ^he laughs
loud — he rushes on him."
" Fool — success blinds him — he should be cautious.
Lydon's eye is like a l3aix's ! " said Clodius, between
his teeth.
" Ha, Clodius ! you saw that ? Your man totters !
Another blow — he falls — ^he falls ! "
" Earth revives him, then. He is once more up ; but
the blood rolls down his face."
1 Above iSoo.
486 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" By the thunderer ! Lydon wins it. See how he
presses on him ! That blow on the temple would have
crushed an ox; it has crushed Tetraides. He falls
«gain — he cannot move — habet! — habet! "
" Habet! " repeated Pansa. " Take them out and
give them the armour and swords."
" Noble editor," said the officers, " we fear that Tet-
raides will not recover in time ; howbeit, we will try."
" Do so."
In a few minutes the officers who had dragged off
the stunned and insensible gladiator, returned with
rueful countenances. They feared for his life ; he was
utterly incapacitated from re-entering the arena.
" In that case," said Pansa, " hold Lydon a subditius;
and the first gladiator that is vanquished, let Lydon
supply his place with the victor."
The people shouted their applause at this sentence:
then they again sunk into deep silence. The trumpet
sounded loudly. The four combatants stood each
against each in prepared and stern array.
" Dost thou recognise the Romans, my Clodius ? are
they among the celebrtited, or are they merely ordi-
nam I
?"
Eumolpus is a good second-rate swordsman, my
Lepidus. Nepimus, the lesser man, I have never seen
before ; but he is the son of one of the imperial fiscales,^
and brought up in a proper school ; doubtless they will
show sport, but I have no heart for the game ; I can-
not win back my money — I am undone. Curses on
that Lydon I who could have supposed he was so dex-
terous or so lucky ? "
" Well, Clodius, shall I take compassion on you, and
accept your own terms with these Romans ? "
^ Gladiators maintained by the emperor*
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 487
" An even ten sestertia on Eumolpus, then ? "
" What ! when Nepimus is untried ? Nay, nay ; that
is too bad."
"Well— ten to eight?"
" Agreed."
While the contest in the amphitheatre had thus
commenced, there was one in the loftier benches for
whom it had assumed, indeed, a poignant — a stifling
interest. The aged father of Lydon, despite his Chris-
tian horror of the spectacle, in his agonised anxiety for
his son, had not been able to resist being the spectator
of his fate. One amidst a fierce crowd of strangers —
the lowest rabble of the populace — ^the old man saw,
felt nothing, but the form — the presence of his brave
son ! Not a sound had escaped his lips when twice he
had seen him fall to the earth; — only he had turned
paler, and his limbs trembled. But he had uttered one
low cry when he saw him victorious, unconscious, alas !
of the more fearful battle to which that victory was
but a prelude.
My gallant boy ! " said he, and wiped his eyes.
Is he thy son ? " said a brawny fellow to the right
of the Nazarene ; " he has fought well : let us see how
he does by and by. Harkj he is to fight the first vic-
tor. Now, old boy, pray the gods that that victor be
neither of the Romans! nor, next to them, the giant
Niger."
The old man sat down again and covered his face.
The fray for the moment was indifferent to him — Ly-
don was not one of the combatants. Yet — ^yet — the
thought flashed across him — ^the fray was indeed of
deadly interest — the first who fell was to make way
for Lydon ! He started, and bent down, with straining
eyes and clasped hands to view the encounter.
tt
488 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
The first interest was attracted towards the combat
of Niger with Sporus ; for this species of contest, from
the fatal result which usually attended it, and from the
great science it required in either antagonist, was al-
ways peculiarly inviting to the spectators.
They stood at a considerable distance from each
other. The singular helmet which Sporus wore (the
vizor of which was down) concealed his face; but the
features of Niger attracted a fearful and universal in-
terest from their compressed and vigilant ferocity.
Thus they stood for some moments, each eying each,
until Sporus began slowly, and with great caution, to
advance, holding his sword pointed, like a modern
fencer's, at the breast of his foe. Niger retreated as
his antagonist advanced, gathering up his net with his
right hand*, and never taking his small glittering eye
from the movements of the swordsman. Suddenly
when Sporus had approached nearly at arm's length,
the retiarius threw himself forward, and cast his net.
A quick inflection of body saved the gladiator from
the deadly snare! he uttered a sharp cry of joy and
rage, and rushed upon Niger: but Niger had already
drawn in his net, thrown it across his shoulders, and
now fled round the lists with a swiftness which the
secutor^ in vain endeavoured to equal. The people
laughed and shouted aloud, to see the ineffectual ef-
forts of the broad-shouldered gladiator to overtake the
flying giant : when, at that moment, their attention was
turned from these to the two Roman combatants.
They had placed themselves at the onset face to face,
at the distance of modern fencers from each other : but
1 So called, from the office of that tribe of gladiators, in
following the foe the moment the net was cast, in order to
smite him ere he could have time to rearrange it
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 489
the extreme caution which both evinced at first had
prevented any warmth of engagement, and allowed the
spectators full leisure to interest themselves in the bat-
tle between Sporus and his foe. But the Romans were
now heated into full and fierce encounter : they pushed
— returned — advanced on — retreated from — ^each other
with all that careful yet scarcely perceptible caution
which characterises men well experienced and equally
matched. But at this moment, Eumolpus, the elder
gladiator, by that dexterous back-stroke which was
considered in the arena so difficult to avoid, had
wounded Nepimus in the side. The people shouted;
Lepidus turned pale.
" Ho ! " said Clodius, " the game is nearly over. If
Eumolpus fights now the quiet fight, the other will
gradually bleed himself away."
" But, thank the gods ! he does not fight the back-
ward fight. See ! — he presses hard upon Nepimus. By
Mars! but Nepimus had him there! the helmet rang
again ! — Clodius, I shall win ! "
** Why do I ever bet but at the dice? " groaned Clo-
dius to himself ; — " or why cannot one cog a gladia-
tor?"
" A Sporus ! — a Sporus ! " shouted the populace, as
Niger having now suddenly paused, had again cast
his net, and again unsuccessfully. He had not re-
treated this time with sufficient agility — the sword of
Sporus had inflicted a severe wound upon his right
leg ; and, incapacitated to fly, he was pressed hard by
the fierce swordsman. His great height and length
of arm still continued, however, to give him no de-
spicable advantages; and steadily keeping his trident
at the front of his foe, he repelled him successfully
for several minutes. Sporus now tried, by great
490 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
rapidity of evolution, to get round his antagonist, who
necessarily moved with pain and slowness. In so do-^
ing, he lost his caution — ^he advanced too near to the
giant — raised his arm to strike, and received the three
points of the fatal spear full in his breast ! He sank
on his knee. In a moment more, the deadly net was
cast over him, he struggled against its meshes in vain ;
again — again — ^again he writhed mutely beneath the
fresh strokes of the trident — ^his blood flowed fast
through the net and redly over the sand. He lowered
his arms in acknowledgment of defeat.
The conquering retiarius withdrew his net, and
leaning on his spear, looked to the audience for their
judgment. Slowly, too, at the same moment, the van-
quished gladiator rolled his dim and despairing eyes
around the theatre. From row to row, from bench to
bench, there glared upon him but merciless and un-
pitying eyes.
Hushed was the roar — ^the mufmur ! The silence was
dread, for in it was no sympathy ; not a hand — ^no, not
even a woman's hand — ^gave the signal of charity and
life! Sporus had never been popular in the arena;
and, lately, the interest of the combat had been excited
on behalf of the wounded Niger. The people were
warmed into blood-^the mimic fight had ceased to
charm; the interest had mounted up to the desire of
sacrifice and the thirst of death !
• The gladiator felt that his doom was sealed: he
uttered no prayer — no groan. The people gave the
signal of death ! In dogged but agonised submission,
he bent his neck to receive the fatal stroke. And now,
as the spear of the retiarius was not a weapon to in-
flict instant and certain death, there stalked into the
arena a grim and fatal form, brandishing a short, sharp
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 491
Sword, and with features utterly concealed beneath its
vizor. With slow and measured steps, this dismal
headsman approached the gladiator, still kneeling —
laid the left hand on his humbled crest — drew the edge
of the blade across his neck — turned round to the as-
sembly, lest, in the last moment, remorse should come
upon them; the dread signal continued the same: the
blade glittered brightly in the air — fell — ^and the glad-
iator rolled upon the sand; his limbs quivered — ^were
still, — he was a corpse.^
His body was dragged^at once from the arena
through the gate of death, and thrown into the gloomy
den termed technically the spoliarium. And ere it had
well reached that destination, the strife between the re-
maining combatants was decided. The sword of
Eumolpus had inflicted the death-wound upon the less
experienced combatant. A new victim was added to
the receptacle of the slain.
Throughout that mighty assembly there now ran a
universal movement ; the people breathed more freely,
and resettled themselves in their seats. A grateful
shower was cast over every row from the concealed
conduits. In cool and luxurious pleasure they talked
over the late spectacle of blood. Eumolpus removed
his helmet, and wiped his brows ; his close-curled hair
and short beard, his noble Roman features and bright
dark eye attracted the general admiration. He was
fresh, unwounded, unfatigued.
The editor paused, and proclaimed aloud that, as
Niger's wound disabled him from again entering the
arena, Lydon was to be the successor to the slaughtered
Nepimus, and the new combatant of Eumolpus.
^ See the engraving from the friezes of Pompeii, in the work
on that city published in the " Library of Entertaining Knowl-
edge," vol. ii. p. 211.
492 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Yet Lydon," added he, " if thou wouldst decline
the combat with one so brave and tried, thou mayst
have full liberty to do so. Eumolpus is not the an-
tagonist that was originally decreed for thee. Thou
knowest best how far thou canst cope with him. If
thou failest, thy doom is honourable death ; if thou con-
querest, out of my own purse I will double the stipu-
lated prize."
The people shouted applause. Lydon stood in the
lists, he gazed around ; high above he beheld the pale
face, the straining eyes, of his father. He turned
away irresolute for a moment. No! the conquest of-
the cestus was not sufficient — he had not yet won the
prize of victory — his father was still a slave !
" Noble aedile ! " he replied, in a firm and deep tone,
" I shrink not from this combat. For the honour of
Pompeii, I demand that one trained by its long-cele-
brated lanista shall do battle with this Roman."
The people shouted louder than before.
" Four to one against Lydon ! " said Clodius to Lepi-
dus.
" I would not take twenty to one ! Why, Eumolpus
is a very Achilles, and this poor fellow is but a tiro! "
Eumolpus gazed hard on the face of Lydon; he
smiled: yet the smile was followed by a slight and
scarce audible sigh — a touch of compassionate emo-
tion, which custom conquered the moment the heart ac-
knowledged it.
And now both, clad in complete armour, the sword
drawn, the vizor closed, the two last combatants of the
arena (ere man, at least, was matched with beast)
stood opposed tp each other.
It was just at this time that a letter was delivered to
the praetor by one of the attendants of the arena; he
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 493
removed the cincture — glanced over it for a moment —
his countenance betrayed surprise and embarrassment.
He re-read the letter, and then muttering, — " Tush ! it
is impossible! — the man must be drunk, even in the
morning, to dream of such follies ! " — threw it care-
lessly aside, and gravely settled himself once more in
the attitude of attention to th6 sports.
The interest of the public was wound up very high.
Eumolpus had at first won their favour; but the gal-
lantry of Lydon, and his well-timed allusion to the
honour of the Pompeian lanista, had afterwards given
the latter the preference in their eyes.
" Holla, old fellow ! '^ said Medon's neighbour to
him, " your son is hardly matched ; but never fear, the
editor will not permit him to be slain — no, nor the peo-
ple neither ; he has behaved too bravely for that. Ha !
that was a home thrust ! — well averted, by Pollux ! At
him again, Lydon ! — they stop to breathe ! What art
thou muttering, old boy ? "
" Prayers! " answered Medon, with a more calm and
hopeful mien than he had yet maintained.
" Prayers ! — trifles ! The time for gods to carry a
man away in a cloud is gone now! Ha! Jupiter! —
what a blow ! Thy side — thy side ! — ^take care of thy
side, Lydon ! "
There was a convulsive tremor throughout the as-
sembly. A fierce blow from Eumolpus, full on the
crest, had brought Lydon to his knee.
** Habet! — he has it!" cried a shrill female voice;
" he has it ! "
It was the voice of the girl who had so anxiously an-
ticipated the sacrifice of some criminal to the beasts.
" Be silent, child ! " said the wife of Pansa, haugh-
tily. " Non habet! — he is not wounded ! "
494 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" I wish he were, if only to spite old surly Medon,"
muttered the girl.
Meanwhile Lydon, who had hitherto defended him-
self with great skill and valour, began to give way be-
fore the vigorous assaults of the practised Roman ; his
arm grew tired, his eye dizzy, he breathed hard and
painfully. The combatants paused again for breath.
" Young man," said Eumolpus, in a low voice, " de-
sist ; I will wound thee slightly — then lower thy arms ;
thou hast propitiated the editor and the mob — ^thou wilt
be honourably saved."
" And my father still enslaved ! " groaned Lydon to
himself. " No ! death or his freedom."
At that thought, and seeing that, his strength not
being equal to the endurance of the Roman, everything
depended on a sudden and desperate effort, he threw
himself fiercely on Eumolpus; the Roman warily re-
treated— Lydon thrust again — Eumolpus drew himself
aside — the sword grazed his cuirass — Lydon's breast
was exposed — the Roman plunged his sword through
the joints of the armour, not meaning, however, to in-
flict a deep wound; Lydon, weak and exhausted, fell
forward, fell right on the point: it passed through and
through, even to the back. Eumolpus drew forth his
blade ; Lydon still made an effort to regain his balance'
— his sword left his grasp — he struck mechanically at
the gladiator with his naked hand, and fell prostrate on
the arena. With one accord, editor and assembly made
the signal of mercy — the officers of the arena ap-
proached— they took off the helmet of the vanquished.
He still breathed; his eyes rolled fiercely on his foe;
the savageness he had acquired in his calling glared
from his gaze, and lowered upon the brow darkened
already with the shades of death ; then, with a convul-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 49S
sive groan, with a half start, he lifted his eyes, above.
They rested not on the face of the editor nor on the
pitying brows of his relenting judges. He saw them
not; they were as if the vast space was desolate and
bare ; one pale agonising face alone was all he recog-
nised— one cry of a broken heart was all that, amidst
the murmurs and the shouts of the populace, reached
his ear. The ferocity vanished from his brow: a soft,
a tender expression of sanctifying but despairing filial
love played over his features — played — waned— dark-
ened I His face suddenly became locked and rigid, re-
suming its former fierceness. He fell upon the earth.
" Look to him," said the aedile ; " he has done his
duty I "
The officers dragged him off to the spoliarium.
" A true type of glory, and of its fate ! " murmured
Arbaces to himself; and his eye, glancing round the
amphitheatre, betrayed so much of disdain and scorn,
that whoever encountered it felt his breath suddenly
arrested, and his emotions frozen into one sensation of
abasement and of awe.
Again rich perfumes were wafted around the thea-
tre ; the attendants sprinkled fresh sand over the arena.
" Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian,"
said the editor.
And a deep and breathless hush of overwrought in-
terest, and intense (yet strange to say, not unpleas-
ing) terror lay, like a mighty and awful dream, over
the assembly.
496 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
CHAPTER III
SALLUST AND NYDIA'S LETTER.
Thrice had Sallust awakened from his morning
sleep, and thrice, recollecting that his friend was that
day to perish, had he turned himself with a deep sigh
once more to court oblivion. His sole object in life
was to avoid pain; and where he could not avoid, at
least to forget it.
At length, unable any longer to steep his conscience
in slumber, he raised himself from his recumbent
posture, and discovered his favourite freedman sitting
by his bedside as usual; for Sallust, who, as I have
said, had a gentleman-like taste for the polite letters,
was accustomed to be read to for an hour or so pre-
vious to his rising in the morning.
" No books to-day ! no more Tibullus ! no more Pin-
dar for me ! Pindar ! alas, alas ! the very name recalls
those games to which our arena is the savage successor.
Has it begun — ^the amphitheatre? are its rites com-
menced ? "
" Long since, O Sallust ! Did you not hear the trum-
pets and the trampling feet? "
** Ay, ay ; but the gods be thanked, I was drowsy,
and had only to turn round to fall asleep again."
" The gladiators must have been long in the ring."
" The wretches I None of my people have gone to
the spectacle ? "
" Assuredly not ; your orders were too strict."
" That is well — would the day were over ! What is
that letter vonder on the able ? "
"That! Oh, the letter brought to you last night,
when you were too — ^too "
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 497
" Drunk to read it, I suppose. No matter, it cannot
be of much importance."
" Shall I open it for you, Sallust ? "
" Do : anything to divert my thoughts. Poor Glau-
cus ! "
The f reedman opened the letter. " What ! Greek ? "
said he : " some learned lady, I suppose." He glanced
over the letter, and for some moments the irregular
lines traced by the blind girl's hand puzzled him. Sud-
denly, however, his countenance exhibited emotion
and surprise. " Good gods ! noble Sallust 1 what have
we done not to attend to this before? Hear me read!
" * Nydia, the slave, to Sallust, the friend of Glau-
cus ! I am a prisoner in the house of Arbaces. Hasten
to the praetor! procure my release, and we shall yet
save Glaucus from the lion. There is another pris-
oner within these walls, whose witness can exonerate
the Athenian from the charge against him ;; — one who
saw the crime — who can prove the criminal in a villain
hitherto unsuspected. Fly! hasten! quick! quick!
Bring with you armed men, lest resistance be made,
and a cunning and dexterous smith ; for the dungeon
of my fellow-prisoner is thick and strong. Oh ! by thy
right hand, and thy father's ashes, lose not a mo-
ment ! ' "
"Great Jove!" exclaimed Sallust, starting, "and
this day — nay, within this hour, perhaps, he dies.
What is to be done ? I will instantly to the praetor."
" Nay ; not so. The praetor (as well as Pansa, the
editor himself) is the creature of the mob; and the
mob will not hear of delay ; they will not be balked in
the very moment of expectation. Besides, the pub-
licity of the appeal would forewarn the cunning Egyp-
tian. It is evident that he has some interest in these
32
498 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
concealments. No ; fortunately, thy slaves are in thy
house."
" I seize thy meaning," interrupted Sallust ; " arm
the slaves instantly. The streets are empty. We will
ourselves hasten to the house of Arbaces, and release
the prisoners. Quick ! quick ! What ho ! Davus there !
My gown and sandals, the papyrus and a reed.^ I will
write to the praetor, to beseech him to delay the sen-
tence of Glaucus, for that, within an hour, we may yet
prove him innocent. So, so ; that is well. Hasten with
this, Davus, to the praetor, at the amphitheatre. See it
given to his own hand. Now then, O ye gods ! whose
providence Epicurus denied, befriend me, and I will
call Epicurus a liar I "
CHAPTER IV
THE AMPHITHEATRE ONCE MORE.
Glaucus and Olinthus had been placed together in
that gloomy and narrow cell in which the criminals of
the arena awaited their last and fearful struggle. Their
eyes, of late accustomed to the darkness, scanned the
faces of each other in this awful hour, and by that dim
light, the paleness, which chased away the natural hues
from either cheek, assumed a yet more ashy and ghastly
whiteness. Yet their brows were erect and dauntless
— ^their limbs did not tremble — their lips were com-
pressed and rigid. The religion of the one, the pride
of the other, the conscious innocence of both, and, it
1 The reed (calamus) was used for writing on papyrus and
parchment; the stilus for writing on waxen tablets, plates of
metal, &c. Letters were written sometimes on tablets, some-
times on papyrus.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 499
may be, the support derived from their mutual com-
panionship, elevated the victim into the hero.
" Hark ! hearest thou that shout ? They are growl-
ing over their human blood," said Olinthus.
" I hear ; my heart grows sick ; but the gods support
me.
" The gods ! O rash young man ! in this hour recog-
nise only the One God. Have I not taught thee in the
dungeon, wept for thee, prayed for thee? — in my zeal
and in my agony, have I not thought more of thy sal-
vation than my own ? "
. " Brave friend ! " answered Glaucus, solemnly, " I
have listened to thee with awe, with wonder, and with
a secret tendency towards conviction. Had our lives
been spared, I might gradually have weaned myself
from the tenets of my own faith, and inclined to thine ;
but, in this last hour, it were a craven thing, and a base,
to yield to hasty terror what should only be the result
of lengthened meditation. Were I to embrace thy
creed and cast down my father's gods, should I not be
bribed by thy promise of heaven, or awed by thy
threats of hell ? Olinthus, no ! Think we of each other
with equal charity — I honouring thy sincerity — thou
pitying my blindness or my obdurate courage. As
have been my deeds, such will be my reward ; and the
Power or Powers above will not judge harshly of hu-
man error, when it is linked with honesty of purpose
and truth of heart. Speak we no more of this. Hush I
Dost thou hear them drag yon heavy body through the
passage? Such as that clay will be ours soon."
" O Heaven ! O Christ ! already I behold ye ! " cried
the fervent Olinthus, lifting up his hands ; " I tremble
not — I rejoice that the prison-house shall be soon
broken."
500 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
Glaucus bowed his head in silence. He felt the dis-
tinction between his fortitude and that of his fellow-
sufferer. The heathen did not tremble ; but the Chris-
tian exulted.
The door swung gratingly back — ^the gleam of
spears shot along the walls.
" Glaucus the Athenian, thy time has come," said a
loud and clear voice ; " the lion awaits thee."
" I am ready," said the Athenian. " Brother and co-
mate, one last embrace ! Bless me — ^and farewell I "
The Christian opened his arms— he clasped the
young heathen to his breast — he kissed his forehead
and cheek — ^he sobbed aloud — his tears flowed fast and
hot over the features of his new friend.
" Oh ! could I have converted thee, I had not wept.
Oh ! that I might say to thee, ' We two shall sup this
night in Paradise ! ' "
" It may be so yet," answered the Greek, with a
tremulous voice. "They whom death part not, may
meet yet beyond the grave : on the earth — on the beau-
tiful, the beloved earth, farewell for ever! — Worthy
officer, I attend you."
Glaucus tore himself away ; and when he came forth
into the air, its breath, which, though sunless, was hot
and arid, smote witheringly upon him. His frame, not
yet restored from the effects of the deadly draught,
shrank and trembled. The officers supported him.
" Courage ! " said one ; " thou art young, active, well
knit. They give thee a weapon ! despair not, and thou
mayst yet conquer."
Glaucus did not reply ; but, ashamed of his infirmity,
he made a desperate and convulsive effort, and re-
gained the firmness of his nerves. They anointed his
body, completely naked, save by a cincture roun^ the
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 501
loins, placed the stilus (vain weapon !) in his hand, and
led him into the arena.
And now when the Greek saw the eyes of thousands
and tens of thousands upon him, he no longer felt
that he was mortal. All evidence of fear — ^all fear
itself — was gone. A red and haughty flush spread
over the paleness of his features — ^he towered aloft to
the full of his glorious stature. In the elastic beauty
of his limbs and form, in his intent but frowning brow,
in the high disdain, and in the indomitable soul, which
breathed visibly, which spoke audibly, from his atti-
tude, his lip, his eye, — he seemed the very incarnation,
vivid and corporeal, of the valour of his land — of the
divinity of its worship — at once a hero and a god !
The murmur of hatred and horror at his crime,
which had greeted his entrance, died into the silence
of involuntary admiration and half-compassionate re-
spect; and, with a quick and convulsive sigh, that
seemed to move the whole mass of life as if it were one
body, the gaze of the spectators turned from the Athe-
nian to a dark uncouth object in the centre of the
arena. It was the grated den of the lion !
" By Venus, how warm it is ! " said Fulvia ; " yet
there is no sun. Would that those stupid sailors^
could have fastened up that gap in the awning !
" Oh ! it is warm, indeed. I turn sick — I faint I
said the wife -of Pansa: even her experienced stoicism
giving way at the struggle about to take place.
The lion had been kept without food for twenty-
four hours, and the animal had, during the whole
morning, testified a singular and restless uneasiness,
which the keeper had attributed to the pangs of hun-
^ Sailors were generally employed in fastening the velaria
of the amphitheatre.
S02 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
ger. Yet its bearing seemed rather that of fear than
of rage; its roar w^s painful and distressed; it hung
its head — snuffed the air through the bars — ^then lay
down — started again — ^and again uttered its wild and
far-resounding cries. And now, in its den, it lay utterly
dumb and mute, with distended nostrils forced hard
against the grating, and disturbing, with a heavy
breath, the sand below on the arena.
The editor's lip quivered, and his cheek grew pale;
he looked anxiously around — hesitated — delayed; the
crowd became impatient. Slowly he gave the signal.;
the keeper, who was behind the den, cautiously re-
moved the grating, and the lion leaped forth with a
mighty and glad roar of release. The keeper hastily
retreated through the grated passage leading from the
arena, and left the lord of the forest — and his prey.
Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself the
firmest posture at the expected rush of the lion, with
his small and shining weapon raised on high, in the
faint hope that one well-directed thrust (for he knew
that he should have time but for one) might penetrate
through the eye to the brain of his grim foe.
But, to the unutterable astonishment of all, the beast
seemed not even aware of the presence of the criminal.
At the first moment of its release it halted abruptly
in the arena, raised itself half on end, snuffing the up-
ward air with impatient sighs ; then suddenly it sprang
forward, but not on the Athenian. At half-speed it
circled round and round the space, turning its vast
head from side^to side with an anxious and perturbed
gjaze, as if seeking only some avenue of escape ; once or
twice it endeavoured to leap up the parapet that di-
vided it from the audience, and, on failing, uttered
rather a baffled howl than its deep-toned and kingly
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 503
roar. It evinced n^D sign, either of wrath or hunger;
its tail drooped along the sand, instead of lashing its
gaunt sides ; and its eye, though it wandered at times
to Glaucus, rolled again listlessly from him. At
length, as if tired of attempting to escape, it crept with
a moan into its cage, and once more laid itself down to
rest.
The first surprise of the assembly at the apathy of
the lion soon grew converted into resentment at its
cowardice ; and the populace already merged their pity
for the fate of Glaucus into angry compassion for their
own disappointment.
The editor called to the keeper.
" How is this ? Take the goad, prick him forth, and
then close the door of the den."
As the keeper, with some fear, but more astonish-
ment, was preparing to obey, a loud cry was heard at
one of the entrances of the arena; there was a con-
fusion, a bustle — voices of remonstrance suddenly
breaking forth, and suddenly silenced at the reply. All
eyes turned in wonder at the interruption, towards the
quarter of the disturbance ; the crowd gave way, and
suddenly Sallust appeared on the senatorial benches,
his hair dishevelled — breathless — heated — half-ex-
hausted. He cast his eyes hastily round the ring.
" Remove the Athenian," he cried ; " haste — he is in-
nocent ! Arrest Arbaces the Egyptian — he is the mur-
derer of Apaecides!"
" Art thou mad, O Sallust ! " said the praetor, rising
from his seat. " What means this raving? " *
" Remove the Athenian ! — Quick 1 or his blood be on
your head. Praetor, delay, and you answer with your
own life to the emperor ! I bring with me the eye-wit-
ness to the death of the priest Apaecides. Room there I
504 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
— stand back! — give way! People of Pompeii, fix
every eye upon Arbaces — ^there he sits! Room there
for the priest Calenus ! "
Pale, haggard, fresh from the jaws of famine and
of death, his face fallen, his eyes dull as a vulture's,
his broad frame gaunt as a skeleton, — Calenus was
supported into the very row in which Arbaces sat. His
releasers had given him sparingly of food; but the
chief sustenance that nerved his feeble limbs was re-
venge !
" The priest Calenus ! — Calenus ! " cried the mob.
" Is it he ? No^it is a dead man ! "
" It is the priest Calenus," said the praetor, gravely.
" What hast thou to say ? "
" Arbaces of Egypt is the murderer of Apaecides, the
priest of Isis ; these eyes saw him deal the blow. It is
from the dungeon into which he plunged me — it is
from the darkness and horror of a death by famine —
that the gods have raised me to proclaim his crime!
Release the Athenian — he is innocent ! "
" It is for this, then, that the lion spared him. — ^A
miracle ! a miracle ! " cried Pansa.
" A miracle ; a miracle ! " shouted the people ; " re-
move the Athenian — Arbaces to the lion! "
And that shout echoed from hill to vale — from coast
to sea — " Arbaces to the lion I "
"Officers, remove the accused Glaucus — remove,
but guard him yet," said the praetor. " The gods lavish
their wonders upon this day."
As the praetor gave the word of release, there was a
cry of joy — 2l female voice — a child's voice — and it was
of joy! It rang through the heart of the assembly
with electric force — it was touching, it was holy, that
child's voice! And the populace echoed it back with
sympathising congratulation !
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 505
Silence/' said the grave praetor — " who is there ? "
The blind girl — Nydia," answered Sallust; "it is
her hand that has raised Calenus from the grave, and
delivered Glaucus from the lion."
" Of this hereafter," said the praetor. " Calenus,
priest of Isis, thou accusest Arbaces of the murder of
Apaecides ? "
" I do."
" Thou didst behold the deed ? "
" Praetor — with these eyes "
" Enough at present — ^the details must be reserved
for more suiting time and place. Arbaces of Egypt,
thou hearest the charge against thee — thou hast not
yet spoken — what hast thou to say ? "
The gaze of the crowd had been long riveted on Ar-
baces; but not until the confusion which he had be-
trayed at the first charge of Sallust and the entrance
of Calenus had subsided. At the shout, " Arbaces to
the lion ! " he had indeed trembled, and the dark bronze
of his cheek had taken a paler hue. But he had soon
recovered his haughtiness and self-control. Proudly
he returned the angry glare of the countless eyes
around him ; and replying now to the question of the
praetor, he said, in that accent so peculiarly tranquil
and commanding, which characterised his tones, —
" Praetor, this charge is so mad that it scarcely de-
serves reply. My first accuser is the noble Sallust —
the most intimate friend of Glaucus! my second is a
priest; I revere his garb and calling — ^but, people of
Pompeii! ye know somewhat of the character of Ca-
lenus— he is griping and gold-thirsty to a proverb;
the witness of such men is to be bought I Praetor, I am
innocent ! "
" Sallust," said the magistrate, " where found you
Calenus ? "
S06 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" In the dungeons of Arbaces."
" Egyptian," said the praetor, frowning, " thou didst,
then, dare to imprison a priest of the gods — and where-
fore?"
" Hear me," answered Arbaces, rising calmly, but
with agitation visible in his face. " This man came to
threaten that he would make against me the charge he
has now made, unless I would purchase his silence
with half my fortune: I remonstrated — in vain. —
Peace there — let not the priest interrupt me! Noble
praetor — and ye, O people! I was a stranger in the
land — I knew myself innocent of crime — ^but the wit-
ness of a priest against me might yet destroy me. In
my perplexity I decoyed him to the cell whence he
has been released, on pretence that it was the coifer-
house of my gold. I resolved to detain him there un-
til the fate of the true criminal was sealed, and his
threats could avail no longer ; but I meant no worse. I
may have erred — ^but who amongst ye will not ac-
knowledge the equity of self-preservation? Were I
guilty, why was the witness of this priest silent at the
trial ! — then I had not detained or concealed him. Why
did he not proclaim my guilt when I proclaimed that
of Glaucus? Praetor, this needs an answer. For the
rest, I throw myself on your laws. I demand their pro-
tection. Reimove hence the accused and the accuser.
I will willingly meet, and cheerfully abide by, the de-
cision of the legitimate tribunal. This is no place for
further parley."
" He says right," said the praetor. " Ho ! guards —
remove Arbaces — guard Calenus! Sallust, we hold
you responsible for your accusation. Let the sports
be resumed."
" What ! " cried Calenus, turning round to the peo-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII ^ 507
pie, " shall Isis be thus contemned ? Shall the blood of
Apaecides yet cry for vengeance? Shall justice be de-
layed now, that it may be frustrated hereafter? Shall
the lion be cheated of his lawful prey ? A god ! a god !
— I feel the god rush to my lips ! To the lion — to the
lion with Arhaces! "
His exhausted frame could support no longer the
ferocious malice of the priest ; he sank on the ground in
strong convulsions — ^the foam gathered to his mouth
— ^he was as a man, indeed, whom a supernatural
power had entered ! The people saw and shuddered.
" It is a god that inspires the holy man ! — To the lion
with the Egyptian! "
With that cry up sprang — on moved — thousands
upon thousands ! They rushed from the heights — ^they
poured down in the direction of the Egyptian. In
vain did the aedile command — in vain did the praetor
lift his voice and proclaim the law. The people had
been already rendered savage by the exhibition of
blood — ^they thirsted for more — their superstition was
aided by their ferocity. Aroused, — inflamed by the
spectacle of their victims, they forgot the -authority of
their rulers. It was one of those dread popular con-
vulsions common to crowds wholly ignorant, half
free and half servile ; and which the peculiar constitu-
tion of the Roman provinces so frequently exhibited.
The power of the praetor was as a reed beneath the
whirlwind; still, at his word the guards had drawn
themselves along the lower benches, on which the
upper classes sat separate from the vulgar. They made
but a feeble barrier — the waves of the human sea
halted for a moment, to enable Arbaces to count the
exact moment of his doom ! In despair, and in a terror
which beat down even pride, he glanced his eyes over
5o8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the rolling and rushing crowd — when, right above
them, through the wide chasm which had been left in
the velaria, he beheld a strange and awful apparition
— he beheld — and his craft restored his courage !
He stretched his hand on high ; over his lofty brow
and royal features, there came an expression of un-
utterable solemnity and command.
" Behold ! " he shouted with a voice of thunder,
which stilled the roar of the crowd ; " behold how the
gods protect the guiltless ! The fires of the avenging
Orcus burst forth against the false witness of my ac-
cusers ! "
The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the
Egyptian, and beheld, with ineffable dismay, a vast
vapour shooting from the summit of Vesuvius, in the
form of a gigantic pine-tree ; ^ the trunk, blackness, —
the branches, fire! — a fire that shifted and wavered in
its hues with every moment, now fiercely luminous,
now of a dull and dying red, that again blazed ter-
rifically forth with intolerable glare !
There was a dead, heart-sunken silence — through
which there suddenly broke the roar of the lion, which
was echoed back from within the building by the
sharper and fiercer yells of its fellow-beast. Dread
seers were they of the Burden of the Atmosphere, and
wild prophets of the wrath to come !
Then there arose on high the universal shrieks of
women ; the men stared at each other, but were dumb.
At that moment they felt the earth shake beneath their
feet; the walls of the theatre trembled: and, beyond
in the distance, they heard the crash of falling roofs ;
an instant more and the mountain-cloud seemed to
roll towards them, dark and rapid, like a torrent; at
1 Pliny.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 509
the same time, it cast forth from its bosom a shower of
ashes mixed with vast fragments of burning stone!
Over the crushing vines, — over the desolate streets, —
over the amphitheatre itself, — far and wide, — ^with
many a mighty splash in the agitated sea, — fell that
awful shower !
No longer thought the crowd of justice or of Ar-
baces; safety for themselves was their sole thought.
Each turned to fly— each dashing, pressing, crushing,
against the other. Trampling recklessly over the
fallen — amidst groans, and oaths, and prayers, and
sudden shrieks, the enormous crowd vomited itself
forth through the numerous passages. Whither should
they fly? Some, anticipating a second earthquake,
hastened to their homes to load themselves with their
more costly goods, and escape while it was yet time;
others, dreading the showers of ashes that now fell
fast, torrent upon torrent, over the streets, rushed un-
der the roofs of the nearest houses, or temples, or
sheds — shelter of any kind — for protection from the
terrors of the open air. But darker, and larger, and
mightier, spread the cloud above them. It was a sud-
den and more ghastly Night rushing upon the realm
of Noon!
CHAPTER V
THE CELL OF THE PRISONER AND THE DEN OF THE DEAD.
^<JRIEF UNCONSCIOUS OF HORROR.
Stunned by his reprieve, doubting that he was
awake, Glaucus had been led by the officers of the
arena into a small cell within the walls of the theatre.
They threw a loose robe over his form, and crowded
round him in congratulation and wonder. There was
5IO THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
an impatient and fretful cry without the cell: the
throng gave way, and the blind girl, led by some
gentler hand, flung herself at the feet of Glaucus.
" It is / who have saved thee," she sobbed ; " now
let me die ! "
" Nydia, my child ! — my preserver ! "
" Oh, let me feel thy touch — ^thy breath ! Yes, yes,
thou livest! We are not too late! That dread door,
me thought it would never yield! and Calenus — oh!
his voice was as the dying wind among tombs: — we
had to wait, — gods ! it seemed hours ere food and wine
restored to him something of strength. But thou
livest ! thou livest yet ! And I — I have saved thee ! "
This aifecting scene was soon interrupted by the
event just described.
" The mountain I the earthquake ! " resounded from
side to side. The officers fled with the rest ; they left
Glaucus and Nydia to save themselves as they might.
As the sense of the dangers around them flashed on
the Athenian, his generous heart recurred to Olinthus.
He, too, was reprieved from the tiger by the hand of
the gods ; should he be left to a no less fatal death in
the neighbouring cell? Taking Nydia by the hand,
Glaucus hurried across the passages ; he gained the den
of the Christian ! He found Olinthus kneeling and in
prayer.
" Arise ! arise ! my friend," he cried. " Save thyself,
and fly ! See ! Nature is thy dread deliverer 1 " He
led forth the bewildered Christian, and pointed to a
cloud which advanced darker and darker, disgorging
forth showers of ashes and pumice-stones: and bade
him hearken to the cries and trampling rush of the
scattered crowd.
" This is the hand of God — God be praised ! " said
Olipthus, devoutly.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII Sil
I
I
escape, r arcwcii i "
" Fly ! seek thy brethren ! Concert with them thy
escape. Farewell !
OHnthus did not answer, neither did he mark the re-
treating form of his friend. High thoughts and sol-
emn absorbed his soul; and in the enthusiasm of his
kindling heart, he exulted in the mercy of God rather
than trembled at the evidence of His power.
At length he roused himself, and hurried on, he
scarce knew whither.
The open doors of a dark desolate cell suddenly ap-
peared on his path; through the gloom within there
flared and flickered a single lamp ; and by its light he
saw three grim and naked forms stretched on the earth
in death. His feet were suddenly arrested ; for, amidst
the terrors of that drear recess — ^the spoliarium of the
arena — ^he heard a low voice calling on the name of
Christ !
He could not resist lingering at that appeal ; he en-
tered the den, and his feet were dabbled in the slow
streams of blood that gushed from the corpses over
the sand.
" Who," said the Nazarene, " calls upon the Son of
God?"
No answer came forth ; and turning round, Olinthus
beheld, by the light of the lamp, an old grey-headed
man sitting on the floor, and supporting in his lap the
head of one of the dead. The features of the dead
man were firmly and rigidly locked in the last sleep;
but over the lip there played a fierce smile — not the
Christian's smile of hope, but the dark sneer of hatred
and defiance. Yet on the face still lingered the beau-
tiful roundness of early youth. The hair curled thick
and glossy over the unwrinkled brow; and the down
of manhood but slightly shaded the marble of the
512 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
hueless cheek. And over this face bent one of such
unutterable sadness — of such yearning tenderness— of
such fond and such deep despair I The tears of the old
roan fell fast and hot, but he did not feel them; and
when his lips moved, and he mechanically uttered the
prayer of his benign and hopeful faith, neither his
heart nor his sense responded to the words : it was but
the involuntary emotion that broke from the lethargy
of his mind. His boy was dead, and had died for
him! — and the old man's heart was broken.
" Medon ! " said Olinthus pityingly, " arise, and fly !
God is forth upon the wings of the elements! The
New Gomorrah is doomed ! — Fly, ere the fires consume
thee ! "
" He was ever so full of life ! — he cannot be dead !
Come hither ! — ^place your hand on his heart ! — sure it
beats yet?"
" Brother, the soul has fled ! We will remember it in
our prayers. Thou canst not reanimate the dumb clay;
Come, come— hark ! while I speak, yon crashing walls !
— hark ! yon agonising cries ! Not a moment is to be
lost! Come!"
" I hear nothing ! " said Medon, shaking his grey
hair. " The poor boy, his love murdered him ! "
" Come ! come ! forgive this friendly force."
" What ! Who would sever the father from the
son?" And Medon clasped the body tightly in his
embrace, and covered it with passionate kisses. " Go ! "
said he, lifting up his face for one moment. " Go ! —
we must be alone ! "
" Alas ! " said the compassionate Nazarene, " Death
hath severed ye already."
The old man smiled very calmly. " No, no, no ! " he
muttered, his .voice growing louder with each word, —
" Death has been more kind."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 513
With that his head drooped on his son's breast — his
arms relaxed their grasp. Olinthus caught him by the
hand — the pulse had ceased to beat. The last words
of the father were the words of truth, — Death had been
more kind.
Meanwhile Glaucus and Nydia were pacing swiftly
up the perilous and fearful streets. The Athenian had
learned from his preserver that lone was yet in the
house of Arbaces. Thither he fled, to release— to save
her. The few slaves whom the Egyptian had left at
his mansion when he had repaired in long 'procession
to the amphitheatre, had been able to offer no resist-
ance to the armed band of Sallust; and when after-
wards the volcano broke forth, they had huddled to-
gether, stunned and frightened, in the inmost recesses
of the house. Even the tall Ethiopian had forsaken
his post at the door; and Glaucus (who left Nydia
without — the poor Nydia, jealous once more, even in
such an hour!) passed on through the vast hall with-
out meeting one from whom to learn the chamber of
lone. Even as he passed, however, the darkness that
covered the heavens increased so rapidly, that it was
with difficulty he could guide his steps. The flower-
wreathed columns seemed to reel and tremble; and
with every instant he heard the ashes fall cranchingly
into the roofless peristyle. He ascended to the upper
rooms — breathless he paced along, shouting out aloud
the name of lone ; and at length he heard, at the end
of a gallery, a voice — her voice, in wondering reply!
To rush forward — to shatter the door — ^to seize lone
in his arms — to hurry from the mansion — seemed to
him the work of an instant ! Scarce had he gained the
spot where Nydia was, than he heard steps advancing
towards the house, and recognised the voice of Ar-
33
514 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
baces, who had returned to seek his wealth and lone
ere he fled from the doomed Pompeii. But so dense
was already the reeking atmosphere, that the foes saw
not each other, though so near, — save that, dimly in the
gloom, Glaucus caught the moving outline of the
snowy robes of the Egyptian.
They hastened onward — those three! Alas! —
whither ? They now saw not a step before them — ^the
blackness became utter. They were encompassed with
doubt and horror! — and the death he had escaped
seemed to Glaucus only to have changed its form and
augmented its victims.
CHAPTER VI
CALENUS AND BURBO. — ^DIOMEX) AND CLODIUS. — ^THE
GIRL OF THE AMPHITHEATRE AND JULIA.
The sudden catastrophe which had, as it were, riven
the very bonds of society, and left prisoner and gaoler
alike free, had soon rid Calenus of the guards to whose
care the praetor had consigned him. And when the
darkness and the crowd separated the priest from his
attendants, he hastened with trembling steps towards
the temple of his goddess. As he crept along, and ere
the darkness was complete, he felt himself suddenly
caught by the robe, and a voice muttered in his ear, —
" Hist ! — Calenus ! — an awful hour ! "
"Ay! by my father's head! Who art thou? — ^thy
face is dim, and thy voice is strange ! "
" Not know thy Burbo ?— fie ! "
"Gods! — how the darkness gathers! Ho, ho! — ^by
yon terrific mountain, what sudden blazes of light-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 515
ning I ^ — How they dart and quiver ! Hades is loosed
on earth I "
" Tush ! — thou believest not these things, Calenus !
Now is the time to make our fortune ! "
*' Ha ! "
" Listen ! Thy temple is full of gold and precious
mummeries! — let us load ourselves with them, and
then hasten to the sea and embark! None will ever
ask an account of the doings of this day."
" Burbo, thou art right ! Hush ! and follow me into
the temple. Who cares now — who sees now — ^whether
thou art a priest or not ? Follow, and we will share."
In the precincts of the temple were many priests
gathered around the altars, praying, weeping, grovel-
ling in the dust. Impostors in safety, they were not the
less superstitious in danger! Calenus passed them,
and entered the chamber yet to be seen in the south
side of the court. Burbo followed him — the priest
struck a light. Wine and viands strewed the table, the
remains of a sacrificial feast.
" A man who has hungered forty-eight hours," mut-
tered Calenus, " has an appetite even in such a time."
He seized on the food and devoured it greedily. Noth-
ing could, perhaps, be more unnaturally horrid than
the selfish baseness of these villains ; for there is noth-
ing more loathsome than the valour of avarice. Plun-
der and sacrilege while the pillars of the world tottered
to and fro ! What an increase to the terrors of nature
can be made by the vices of man 1
"Wilt thou never have done?" said Burbo, impa-
* Volcanic lightnings. These phenomena were especially the
characteristic of the long subsequent eruption of 1779, and
their evidence is visible in the tokens of that more awful one
now so imperfectly described.
Si6 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
tiently; "thy face purples and thine eyes start al-
ready."
" It is not every day one has such a right to be hun-
gry. Oh, Jupiter ! what sound is that ? — the hissing of
fiery water! What! does the cloud give rain as well
as flame 1 Ha ! — what ! shrieks ? And, Burbo, how si-
lent all is now ! Look forth ! "
Amidst the other horrors, the mighty mountain now
cast up columns of boiling water. Blent and kneaded
with the half-burning ashes, the streams fell like
seething mud over the streets in frequent intervals.
And full, where the priests of Isis had now cowered
around the altars, on which they had vainly sought to
kindle fires and pour incense, one of the fiercest of
those deadly torrents, mingled with immense fra-
grants of scoria, had poured its rage. Over the bended
forms of the priests it dashed: that cry had been of
death — that silence had been of eternity ! The ashes —
the pitchy stream — sprinkled the altars, covered the
pavement, and half concealed the quivering corpses
of the priests !
" They are dead," said Burbo, terrified for the first
time, and hurrying back into the cell. " I thought not
the danger was so near and fatal."
The two wretches stood staring at each other — you
might have heard their hearts beat ! Calenus, the less
bold by nature, but the more griping, recovered first.
" We must to our task, and away I " he said, in a
low whisper, frightened at his own voice. He stepped
to the threshold, paused, crossed over the heated floor
and his dead brethren to the sacred chapel, and called
to Burbo to follow. But the gladiator quaked, and
drew back.
" So much the better," thought Calenus ; " the more
^tt
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 517
will be my booty." Hastily he loaded himself with
the more portable treasures of the temple ; and think-
ing no more of his comrade, hurried from the sacred
place. A sudden flash of lightning from the mount
showed to Burbo, who stood motionless at the thresh-
old, the flying and laden form of the priest. He took
heart, he stepped forth to join him, when a tremendous
shower of ashes fell right before his feet. The gladia-
tor shrank back once more. Darkness closed him in.
But the shower continued fast — fast; its heaps rose
high and suffocatingly— deathly vapours steamed from
them. The wretch gasped for breath — he sought in
despair again to fly — the ashes had blocked up the
threshold — he shrieked as his feet shrank from the
boiling fluid. How could he escape? he could not
climb to the open space; nay, were he able, he could
not brave its horrors. It were best to remain in the
cell, protected, at least, from the fatal air. He sat
down and clenched his teeth. By degrees, the atmos-
phere from without — ^stifling and venomous — crept
into the chamber. He could endure it no longer. His
eyes, glaring round, rested on a sacrificial axe, which
some priest had left in the chamber : he seized it. With
the desperate strength of his gigantic arm, he at-
tempted to hew his way through the walls.
Meanwhile, the streets were already thinned; the
crowd had hastened to disperse itself under shelter;
the ashes began to fill up the lower parts of the town ;
but, here and there, you heard the steps of fugitives
cranching them warily, or saw their pale and haggard
faces by the blue glare of the lightning, or the more
unsteady glare of torches, by which they endeavoured
to steer their steps. But ever and anon, the boiling
water, or the straggling ashes, mysterious and gusty
5i8 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
winds, rising and dying in a breath, extinguished these
wandering lights, and with them the last living hope of
those who bore them.
In the street that leads to the gate of Herculaneum,
Clodius now bent his perplexed and doubtful way. " If
I can gain the open country," thought he, " doubtless-
there will be various vehicles beyond the gate, and
Herculaneum is not far distant. Thank Mercury! I
have little to lose, and that little is about me I "
" Holloa ! — help here — help ! " cried a querulous and
frightened voice. " I have fallen down — my torch has
gone out — my slaves have deserted me. I am Diomed
—the rich Diomed ; ten thousand sesterces to him who
helps me ! "
At the same moment, Clodius felt himself caught by
the feet. " 111 fortune to thee, — let me go, fool," said
the gambler.
" Oh, help me up ! — give me thy hand ! "
" There— rise ! "
" Is this Clodius ? I know the voice ! Whither fliest
thou?"
" Towards Herculaneum."
" Blessed be the gods ! our way is the same, then, as
far as the gate. Why not take refuge in my villa?
Thou knowest the long range of subterranean cellars
beneath the basement — ^that shelter what shower can
penetrate ? "
" You speak well," said Clodius, musingly. " And
by storing the cellar with food, we can remain there
even some days, should these wondrous storms endure
so long."
" Oh, blessed be he who invented gates to a city ! "
cried Diomed. " See ! — ^they have placed a light
within yon arch : by that let us guide our steps."
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 519
The air was now still for a few minutes; the lamp
from the gate streamed out far and clear : the fugitives
hurried on — ^they gained the gate — they passed by the
Roman sentry ; the lightning flashed over his livid face
and polished helmet, but his stern features were com-
posed even in their awe ! He remained erect and mo-
tionless at his post. That hour itself had not ani-
mated the machine of the ruthless majesty of Rome
into the reasoning and self-acting man. There he
stood, amidst the crashing elements: he had not re-
ceived the permission to desert his station and escape.*
Diomed and his companion hurried on, when sud-
denly a female form rushed athwart their way. It was
the girl whose ominous voice had been raised so often
and so gladly in anticipation of " the merry show !
" Oh, Diomed ! " she cried, " shelter ! shelter ! See,
— pointing to an infant clasped to her breast — " see
this little one! — it is mine! — ^the child of shame! I
have never owned it till this hour. But now I remem-
ber I am a mother I I have plucked it from the cradle
of its nurse: she had fled! Who could think of the
babe in such an hour, but she who bore it ? Save it !
save it ! "
" Curses on thy shrill voice ! Away, harlot ! " mut-
tered Clodius between his ground teeth.
" Nay, girl," said the more humane Diomed ; " fol-
low if thou wilt. This way — this way — ^to the vaults ! "
They hurried on — ^they arrived at the house of Dio-
med— they laughed aloud as they crossed the thresh-
old, for they deemed the danger over.
Diomed ordered his slaves to carry down into the
subterranean gallery, before described, a profusion of
^ The skeletons of more than one sentry were found at
their posts.
520 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
food and oil for lights; and there Julia, Clodius, the
mother and her babe, the greater part of the slaves,
and some frightened visitors and clients of the neigh-
t
bourhood, sought their shelter.
CHAPTER VII
THE PROGRESS OF THE DESTRUCTION.
The cloud, which had scattered so deep a murkiness
over the day, had now settled into a solid and impene-
trable mass. It resembled less even the thickest gloom
of night in the open air than the close and blind dark-
ness of some narrow room.* But in proportion as the
blackness gathered did the lightnings around Vesuvius
increase in their vivid and scorching glare. Nor was
their horrible beauty confined to the usual hues of
fire ; no rainbow ever rivalled their varying and prod-
igal dyes. Now brightly blue as the most azure
depth of a southern sky — now of a livid and snakelike
green, darting restlessly to and fro as the folds of an
enormous serpent — now of a lurid and intolerable
crimson, gushing forth through the columns of smoke,
far and wide, and lighting up the whole city from arch
to arch, — then suddenly dying into a sickly paleness,
like the ghost of their own life !
In the pauses of the showers, you heard the rum-
bling of the earth beneath, and the groaning waves of
the tortured sea ; or, lower still, and audible but to the
watch of intensest fear, the grinding and hissing mur-
mur of the escaping gases through the chasms of the
distant mountain. Sometimes the cloud appeared to
break from its solid mass, and, by the lightning, to as-
1 Pliny.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 521
sume quaint and vast mimicries of human or of mon-
ster shapes, striding across the gloom, hurtling one
upon the other, and vanishing swiftly into the turbulent
abyss of shade ; so that to the eyes and fancies of the
affrighted wanderers, the unsubstantial vapours were
as the bodily forms of gigantic foes, — ^the agents of
terror and of death.^
The ashes in many places were already knee-deep;
and the boiling showers which came from the steam-
ing breath of the volcano forced their way into the
houses, bearing with them a strong and suffocating
vapour. In some places, immense fragments of rock,
hurled upon the house roofs, bore down along the
streets masses of confused ruin, which yet more and
more, with every hour, obstructed the way ; and, as the
day advanced, the motion of the earth was more sen-
sibly felt — the footing seemed to slide and creep^nor
could chariot or litter be kept steady, even on the most
level ground.
Sometimes the huger stones, striking against each
other as they fell, broke into countless fragments,
emitting sparks of fire, which caught whatever was
combustible within their reach; and along the plains
beyond the city the darkness was now terribly relieved,
for several houses, and even vineyards, had been set on
flames ; and at various intervals the fires rose sullenly
and fiercely against the solid gloom. To add to this
partial relief of the darkness, the citizens had, here and
there, in the more public places, as the porticoes of
temples and the entrances to the forum, endeavoured
to place rows of torches; but these rarely continued
long; the showers and the winds extinguished them,
and the sudden darkness into which their sudden birth
^ Dion Cassius.
523 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
was converted had something in it doubly terrible and
doubly impressing on the impotence of human hopes,
the lesson of despair.
Frequently, by the momentary light of these torches,
parties of fugitives encountered each other, some
hurrying towards the sea, others flying from the sea
back to the land; for the ocepn had retreated rapidly
from the shore — an utter darkness lay over it, and,
upon its groaning and tossing waves the storm of cin-
ders and rock fell without the protection which the
streets and roofs afforded to the land. Wild — ^hag-
gard— ^ghastly with supernatural fears, these groups
encountered each other, but without the leisure to
speak, to consult, to advise ; for the showers fell now
frequently, though not continuously, extinguishing the
lights ; which showed to each band the death-like faces
of the other, and hurrying all to seek refuge beneath
the nearest shelter. The whole elements of civilisation
were broken up. Ever and anon, by the flickering
lights, you saw the thief hastening by the most sol-
emn authorities of the law, laden with, and fearfully
chuckling over, the produce of his sudden gains. If,
in the darkness, wife was separated from husband, or
parent from child, vain was the hope of reunion. Each
hurried blindly and confusedly on. Nothing in all
the various and complicated machinery of social life
was left save the primal law of self-preservation !
Through this awful scene did the Athenian make
his way, accompanied by lone and the blind girl. Sud-
denly, a rush of hundreds, in their path to the sea,
swept by them. Nydia was torn from the side of Glau-
cus, who, with lone, was borne rapidly onward; and
when the crowd (whose forms they saw not, so thick
was the gloom) were gone, Nydia was still separated
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 523
•
from their side. Glaucus shouted her name. No an-
swer came. They retraced their steps — in vain: they
could not discover her — it was evident that she had
been swept along some opposite direction by the hu-
man current. Their friend, their preserver, was lost!
And hitherto Nydia had been their guide. Her blind-
ness rendered the scene familiar to her alone. Accus-
tomed, through a perpetual night, to thread the wind-
ings of the city, she had led them unerringly towards
the sea-shore, by which they had resolved to hazard
an escape. 'Now, which way could they wend? all
was rayless to them — ^a maze without a clue. Wearied,
despondent, bewildered, they, however, passed along,
the ashes falling upon their heads, the fragmentary
stones dashing up in sparkles before their feet.
" Alas ! alas ! " murmured lone, " I can go no
farther; my steps sink among the scorching cinders.
Fly, dearest ! — ^beloved, fly ! and leave me to my fate ! "
" Hush, my betrothed I my bride ! Death with thee
is sweeter than life without thee! Yet, whither — oh!
whither, can we direct ourselves through the gloom?
Already it seems that we have made but a circle, and
are in the very spot which we quitted an hour ago."
" O gods ! yon rock — see, it hath riven the roof be-
fore us ! It is death to move through the streets ! "
" Blessed lightning ! See, lone — see I the portico of
the Temple of Fortune is before us. Let us creep be-
neath it ; it will protect us from the showers."
He caught his beloved in his arms, and with dif-
ficulty and labour gained the temple. He bore her to
the remoter and more sheltered part of the portico, and
leaned over her that he might shield her, with his own
form, from the lightning and the showers! The
beauty and the unselfishness of love could hallow even
that dismal time !
524 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
" Who is there ? " said the trembling and hollow
voice of one who had preceded them in their place of
refuge. " Yet, what matters ? — the crush of the ruined
world forbids to us friends or foes."
lone turned at the sound of that voice, and, with a
faint shriek cowered again beneath the arms of Glau-
cus : and he, looking in the direction of the voice, be-
held the cause of her alarm. Through the darkness
glared forth two burning eyes — the lightning flashed
and lingered athwart the temple — and Glaucus, with a
shudder, perceived the lion to which he had been
doomed crouched beneath the pillars; — ^and, close be-
side it, unwitting of the vicinity, lay the giant form of
him who had accosted them — the wounded gladiator,
Niger.
That lightning had revealed to each other the form
of beast and man ; yet the instinct of both was quelled.
Nay, the lion crept near and nearer to the gladiator, as
for companionship; and the gladiator did not recede
or tremble. The revolution of Nature had dissolved
her lighter terrors as well as her wonted ties.
While they were thus terribly protected, a group of
men and women, bearing torches, passed by the tem-
ple. They were of the congregation of the Nazarenes ;
and a sublime and unearthly emotion had not, indeed,
quelled their awe, but it had robbed awe of fear. They
had long believed, according to the error of the early
Christians, that the Last Day was at hand; they im-
agined now that the day had come.
" Woe ! woe ! " cried, in a shrill and piercing voice,
the elder at their head. " Behold! the Lord descend-
eth to judgment! He maketh fire come down from
heaven in the sight of men! Woe! woe! ye strong
and mighty ! Woe to ye of the fasces and the purple !
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 52S
Woe to the idolater and the worshipper of the beast !
Woe to ye who pour forth the blood of saints, and
gloat over the death-pangs of the sons of God ! Woe
to the harlot of the sea ! — woe ! woe ! "
And with a loud and deep chorus, the troop chanted
forth along the wild horrors of the air, — " Woe to the
harlot of the sea ! — woe ! woe ! "
The Nazarenes paced slowly on, their torches still
flickering in the storm, their voices still raised in
menace and solemn warning, till, lost amid the wind-
ings in the streets, the darkness of the atmosphere and
the silence of death ag^in fell over the scene.
There was one of the frequent pauses in the showers,
and Glaucus encouraged lone once more to proceed.
Just as they stood, hesitating, on the last step of the
portico, an old man, with a bag in his right hand and
leaning upon a youth, tottered by. The youth bore a
torch. Glaucus recognised the two as father and son
— miser and prodigal.
" Father," said the youth, " if you cannot move more
swiftly, I must leave you, or we both perish ! "
" Fly, boy, then, and leave thy sire ! "
" But I cannot fly to starve ; give me thy bag of
gold ! " And the youth snatched at it.
" Wretch ! wouldst thou rob thy father ? "
"Ay! who can tell the tale in this hour? Miser,
perish ! "
The boy struck the old man to the ground, plucked
the bag from his relaxing hand, and fled onward with
a shrill yell.
" Ye gods ! " cried Glaucus : " are ye blind, then,
even in the dark ? Such crimes may well confound the
guiltless with the guilty in one common ruin. lone,
on ! — on ! "
526 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
CHAPTER VIII
ARBACES ENCOUNTERS GLAUCUS AND lONE.
Advancing, as men grope for escape in a dungeon,
lone and her lover continued their uncertain way. At
the moments when the volcanic lightnings lingered
over the streets, they were enabled, by that awful light,
to steer and guide their progress: yet, Httle did the
view it presented to them cheer or encourage their
path. In parts, where the ashes lay dry and uncom-
mixed with the boiling torrents, cast upward from the
mountain at capricious intervals, the surface of the
earth presented a leprous and ghastly white. In other
places, cinder and rock lay matted in heaps, from be-
neath which emerged the half-hid limbs of some
crushed and mangled fugitive. The groans of the
dying were broken by wild shrieks of women's terror
— ^now near, now distant — which, when heard in the
utter darkness, were rendered doubly appalling by the
crushing sense of helplessness and the uncertainty of
the perils around; and clear and distinct through all
were the mighty and various noises from the Fatal
Mountain; its rushing winds; its whirling torrents;
and, from time to time, the burst and roar of some
more fiery and fierce explosion. And ever as the
winds swept howling along the street, they bore sharp
streams of burning dust, and such sickening and
poisonous vapours, as took away, for the instant,
breath and consciousness, followed by a rapid revul-
sion of the arrested blood, and a tingling sensation of
agony trembling through every nerve and fibre of the
frame.
" Oh, Glaucus ! my beloved ! my own ! — ^take me to
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 527
thy arms ! One embrace ! let me feel thy arms around
me — ^and in that embrace let me die — I can no more ! "
" For my sake, for my life — courage, yet, sweet
lone — my life is linked with thine: and see — ^torches
— this way ! Lo ! how they brave the wind ! Ha ! they
live through the storm— doubtless, fugitives to the
sea ! — we will join them."
As if to aid and reanimate the lovers, the winds and
showers came to a sudden pause ; the atmosphere was
profoundly still — the mountain seemed to rest, gath-
ering, perhaps, fresh fury for its next burst : the torch-
bearers moved quickly on. " We are nearing the sea,"
said, in a calm voice, the person at their head. " Lib-
erty and wealth to each slave who survives this day !
Courage — I tell you that the gods themselves have as-
sured me of deliverance — On I "
Redly and steadily the torches flashed full on the
eyes of Glaucus and lone, who lay trembling and ex-
hausted on his bosom. Several slaves were bearing,
by the light, panniers and coflfers, heavily laden; in
front of them, a drawn sword in his hand, — ^towered
the lofty form of Arbaces.
" By my fathers ! " cried the Egyptian, " Fate smiles
upon me even through these horrors, and, amidst the
dreadest aspects of woe and death, bodes me happiness
and love. Away, Greek ! I claim my ward, lone ! "
" Traitor and murderer ! " cried Glaucus, glaring
upon his foe, " Nemesis hath guided thee to my re-
venge!— a just sacrifice to the shades of Hades, that
now seem loosed on earth. Approach — touch but the
hand of lone, and thy weapon shall be as a reed — I will
tear thee limb from limb ! "
Suddenly as he spoke, the place became lighted with
an intense and lurid glow. Bright and gigantic
528 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
through the darkness, which closed around it like the
walls of hell, the mountain shone — a pile of fire ! Its
summit seemed riven in two; or rather, above its sur-
face there seemed to rise two monster shapes, each
confronting each, as Demons contending for a World.
These were of one deep blood-red hue of fire, which
lighted up the whole atmosphere far and wide; but,
below, the nether part of the mountain was still dark
and shrouded save, in three places, adown which
flowed, serpentine and irregular, rivers of molten
lava.* Darkly red through the profound gloom of
their banks, they flowed slowly on, as towards the de-
voted city. Over the broadest there seemed to spring
a cragged and stupendous arch, from which, as from
the jaws of hell, gushed the sources of the sudden
Phlegethon. And through the still air was heard the
rattling of the fragments of rock, hurtling one upon
another as they were borne down the fiery cataracts —
darkening, for one instant, the spot where they fell,
and suffused the next, in the burnished hues of the
flood which they floated !
The slaves shrieked aloud, and, cowering, hid their
faces. The Egyptian himself stood transfixed to the
spot, the glow lighting up his commanding features
and jewelled robes. High behind him rose a tall col-
umn that supported the bronze statue of Augustus;
and the imperial image seemed changed to a shape of
fire !
With his left hand circled round the form of lone —
with his right arm raised in menace, and grasping the
stilus which was to have been his weapon in the arena,
and which he still fortunately bore about him, with his
brow knit, his lips apart, the wrath and menace of hu-
* See note (a) at the end.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 529
man passions arrested as by a charm, upon his features,
Glaucus fronted the Egyptian !
Arbaces turned his eyes from the mountain — they
rested on the form of Glaucus ! He paused a moment :
" Why," he muttered, " should I hesitate ? Did not the
stars foretell the only crisis of imminent peril to which
I was subjected? — Is not that peril past?
" The soul," cried he aloud, " can brave the wreck
of worlds and the wrath of imaginary gods ! By that
soul will I conquer to the last! Advance, slaves! —
Athenian, resist me, and thy blood be on thine own
head I Thus, then, I regain lone ! "
He advanced one step — it was his last on. earth ! The
ground shook beneath him with a convulsion that cast
all around upon its surface. A simultaneous crash re-
sounded through the city, as down toppled many a
roof and pillar! — the lightning, as if caught by the
metal, lingered an instant on the Imperial Statue —
then shivered bronze and column ! Down fell the ruin,
echoing along the street, and riving the solid pave-
ment where it crashed I — ^The prophecy of the stars was
fulfilled.
The sound — the shock, stunned the Athenian for
several moments. When he recovered, the light still
illumined the scene — the earth still slid and trembled
beneath ! lone lay senseless on the ground ; but he saw
her not yet — ^his eyes were fixed upon a ghastly face
that seemed to emerge, without limbs or trunk, from
the huge fragments of the shattered column — a face of
unutterable pain, agony, and despair! The eyes shut
and opened rapidly, as if sense were not yet fled ; the
lips quivered and grinned — then sudden stillness and
darkness fell over the features, yet retaining that as-
pect of horror never to be forgotten I
34
530 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
So perished the wise Magician — the great Arbaces
— the Hermes of the Burning Belt — ^the last of the
royalty of Egypt !
CHAPTER IX
THE DESPAIR OF THE LOVERS. — THE CONDITION OF THE
MULTITUDE.
Glaucus turned in gratitude but in awe, caught lone
once more in his arms, and fled along the street, that
was yet intensely luminous. But suddenly a duller
shade fell over the air. Instinctively he turned to the
mountain, and behold ! one of the two gigantic crests,
into which the summit had been divided, rocked and
wavered to and fro; and then, with a sound, the
mightiness of which no language can describe, it fell
from its burning base, and rushed, an avalanche of fire,
down the sides of the mountain ! At the same instant
gushed forth a volume of blackest smoke rolling on,
over air, sea, and earth.
Another — ^and another — ^and another shower of
ashes far more profuse than before, scattered fresh
desolation along the streets. Darkness once more
wrapped them as a veil ; and Glaucus, his bold heart at
last quelled and despairing, sank beneath the cover of
an arch, and, clasping lone to his heart — z. bride on
that couch of ruin — resigned himself to die.
Meanwhile Nydia, when separated by the throng
from Glaucus and lone, had in vain endeavoured to
regain them. In vain she raised that plaintive cry so
peculiar to the blind; it was lost amidst a thousand
shrieks of more selfish terror. Again and again she
returned to the spot where they had been divided — ^to
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 531
find her companions gone, to seize every fugitive —
to inquire of Glaucus — ^to be dashed aside in the im-
patience of distraction. Who in that hour spared one
thought to his neighbour? Perhaps in scenes of uni-
versal horror, nothing is more horrid than the unnat-
ural selfishness they engender. At length it occurred
to Nydia, that as it had been resolved to seek the sea-
shore for escape, her most probable chance of rejoin-
ing her companions would be to persevere in that di-
rection. Guiding her steps, then, by the staff which
she always carried, she continued, with incredible dex-
terity, to avoid the masses of ruin that encumbered
the path — to thread the streets — and unerringly (so
blessed now was that accustomed darkness, so afflict-
ing in ordinary life!) to take the nearest direction to
the sea-side.
Poor girl ! — her courage was beautiful to behold ! —
and Fate seemed to favour one so helpless. The boil-
ing torrents touched her not, save by the general rain
which accompanied them; the huge fragments of
scoria shivered the pavement before and beside her, but
spared that frail form: and when the lesser ashes fell
over her, she shook them away with a slight tremor,^
and dauntlessly resumed her course.
Weak, exposed, yet fearless, supported but by one
wish, she was a very emblem of Psyche in her wander-
ings; of Hope, walking through the Valley of the
Shadow ; of the soul itself — lone but undaunted, amidst
the dangers and the snares of life I
Her path was, however, constantly impeded by the
crowds that now groped amidst the gloom, now fied
^ " A heavy shower of ashes rained upon us, which every
now and then we were obliged to shake off, otherwise we
should have been crushed and buried in the heap." — Pliny,
532 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
in the temporary glare of the lightnings across the
scene ; and, at length, a group of torch-bearers rushing
full against her, she was thrown down with some vio-
lence.
" What I " said the voice of one of the party, " is
this the brave blind girl? By Bacchus, she must not
be left here to die! Up! my Thessalian! So — so.
Are you hurt ? That's well. Come along with us ! we
are for the shore ! "
" O Sallust ! It is thy voice I The gods be thanked I
Glaucus ! Glaucus ! have ye seen him ? "
" Not I.^ He is doubtless out of the city by this time.
The gods who saved him from the lion will save him
from the burning mountain."
As the kindly epicure thus encouraged Nydia, he
drew her along with him towards the sea, heeding not
her passionate entreaties that he would linger yet a
while to search for Glaucus ; and still, in the accent of
despair, she continued to shriek out that beloved name,
which amidst all the roar of the convulsed elements,
kept alive a music at her heart.
The sudden illumination, the bursts of the floods of
lava, and the earthquake, which we have already de-
scribed, chanced when Sallust and his party had just
gained the direct path leading from the city to the
port; and here they were arrested by an immense
crowd, more than half the population of the city. They
spread along the field without the walls, thousands
upon thousands, uncertain whither to fly. The sea had
retired far from the shore ; and they who had fled to it
had been so terrified by the agitation and preternatural
shrinking of the element, the gasping forms of the un-
couth sea things which the waves had left upon the
sand, and by the sound of the huge stones cast from
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 533
the mountain inte the deep, that they had returned
again to the land, as presenting the less frightful as-
pect of the two. Thus the two streams of human
beings, the one seaward, the other from the sea, had
met together, feeling a sad comfort in numbers; ar-
rested in despair and doubt.
" The world is to be destroyed by fire," said an old
man in long loose robes, a philosopher of the Stoic
school : " Stoic and Epicurean wisdom have alike
agreed in this prediction ; and the hour is come ! "
" Yea ; the hour is come ! " cried a loud voice, sol-
emn but not fearful.
Those around turned in dismay. The voice came
from above them. It was the voice of Olinthus, who,
surrounded by his Christian friends, stood upon an ab-
rupt eminence on which the old Greek colonists had
raised a temple to Apollo, now time-worn and half in
ruin.
As he spoke, there came that sudden illumination
which had heralded the death of Arbaces, and glowing
over that mighty multitude, awed, crouching, breath-
less— never on earth had the faces of men seemed so
haggard! — never had meeting of mortal beings been
so stamped with the horror and sublimity of dread ! —
never till the last trumpet sounds, shall such meeting
be seen again ! And above rose the form of Olinthus,
with outstretched arm and prophet brow, girt with the
living fires. And the crowd knew the face of him
they had doomed to the fangs of the beast — then their
victim — now their warner; and through the stillness
again came his ominous voice —
" The hour is come ! "
The Christians repeated the cry. It was caught up
— it was echoed from side to side — woman and man,
534 ' THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
childhood and old age, repeated, not aloud, but in a
smothered and dreary murmur —
" The hour has come ! "
At that moment, a wild yell burst through the air;
— ^and, thinking only of escape, whither it knew not,
the terrible tiger of the desert leaped amongst the
throng, and hurried through its parted streams. And
so came the earthquake, — and so darkness once more
fell over the earth !
And now new fugitives arrived. Grasping the treas-
ures no longer destined for their lord, the slaves of
Arbaces joined the throng. One only of their torches
yet flickered on. It was borne by Sosia ; and its light
falling on the face of Nydia, he recognised the Thes-
salian.
" What avails thy liberty now, blind girl ? " said the
slave.
" Who art thou ? canst thou tell me of Glaucus ? "
" Ay ; I saw him but a few minutes since."
" Blessed be thy head ! where ? "
" Crouched beneath the arch of the forum— dead or
dying ! — ^gone to rejoin Arbaces who is no more ! "
Nydia uttered not a word, she slid from the side of
Sallust; silently she glided through those behind herj
and retraced her steps to the city. She gained the
forum — ^the arch; she stooped down — she felt around
— she called on the name of Glaucus.
A weak voice answered — " Who calls on me ? Is it
the voice of the Shades ? Lo ! 1 am prepared ! '*
" Arise ! follow me ! Take my hand ! Glaucus, thou
shalt be saved ! "
In wonder and sudden hope, Glaucus arose — " Ny-
dia still ? Ah ! thou, then, art safe ! "
The tender joy of his voice pierced the heart of the
■"-^ "firjljijfli
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 535
poor Thessalian, and she blessed him for his thought
of her.
Half leading, half carrying lone, Glaucus followed
his guide. With admirable discretion, she avoided the
path which led to the crowd she had just quitted, and,
by another route, sought the shore.
After many pauses and incredible perseverance,
they gained the sea, and joined a group, who, bolder
than the rest, resolved to hazard any peril rather than
continue in such a scene. In darkness, they put forth
to sea; but, as they cleared the land and caught new
aspects of the mountain, its channels of molten fire
threw a partial redness over the waves.
Utterly exhausted and worn out, lone slept on the
breast of Glaucus and Nydia lay at his feet. Mean-
while the showers of dust and ashes, still borne aloft,
fell into the wave, and scattered their snows over the
deck. Far and wide, borne by the winds, those showers
descended upon the remotest climes, startling even the
swarthy African; and whirled along the antique soil
of Syria and of Egypt.^
CHAPTER X
THE NEXT MORNING. — ^THE FATE OF NYDIA.
And meekly, softly, beautifully, dawned at last the
light over the trembling deep ! — the winds were sink-
ing into rest — ^the foam died from the glowing azure
of that delicious sea. Around the east, thin mists
caught gradually the rosy hues that heralded the
morning ; Light was about to resume her reign. Yet,
still, dark and massive in the distance, lay the broken
^ Dion Cassius.
536 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
fragments of the destroying cloud, from which red
streaks, burning dimlier and more dim, betrayed the
yet rolling fires of the mountain of the " Scorched
Fields." The white walls and gleaming columns that
had adorned the lovely coasts were no more. Sullen
and dull were the shores so lately crested by the cities
of Herculaneum and Pompeii. The darlings of the
Deep were snatched from her embrace! Century after
century shall the mighty Mother stretch forth her azure
arms, and know them not — moaning round the sepul-
chres of the Lost !
There was no sfwut from the mariners at the dawn-
ing light — it had come too gradually, and they were
too wearied for such sudden bursts of joy — ^but there
was a low, deep murmur of thankfulness amidst those
watchers of the long night. They looked at each other
and smiled — ^they took heart — they felt once more that
there was a world around, and a God above them!
And in the feeling that the worst was passed, the over-
wearied ones turned round, and fell, placidly to sleep.
In the growing light of the skies there came the silence
which night had wanted: and the bark drifted talmly
onward to its port. A few other vessels, bearing simi-
lar fugitives, might be seen in the expanse, apparently
motionless, yet gliding also on. There was a sense of
security, of companionship, and of hope, in the sight of
their slender masts and white sails. What beloved
friends, lost and missed in the gloom, might they not
bear to safety and to shelter !
In the silence of the general sleep, Nydia rose gently.
She bent over the face of Glaucus — she inhaled the
deep breath of his heavy slumber, — timidly and sadly
she kissed his brow — ^his lips ; she felt for his hand — it
was locked in that of lone ; she sighed deeply, and her
1
■■
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 537
face darkened. Again she kissed his brow, and with
her hair wiped from it the damps of night. " May the
gods bless you, Athenian I " she murmured : " may you
be happy with your beloved one ! — may you sometimes
remember Nydia! Alas! she is of no further use on
earth I "
With these words she turned away. Slowly she
crept along by the fori, or platforms, to the farther side
of the vessel, and, pausing, bent low over the deep;
the cool spray dashed upward on her feverish brow.
" It is the kiss of death," she said — " it is welcome."
The balmy air played through her waving tresses —
she put them from her face, and raised those eyes — so
tender, though so lightless — ^to the sky, whose soft face
she had never seen I
" No, no ! " she said, half aloud, and in a musing
and thoughtful tone, " I cannot endure it ; this jealous,
exacting love — it shatters my whole soul in madness!
I might harm him again — wretch that I was 1 I have
saved him — ^twice saved him — happy, happy thought:
why not die happy? — it is the last glad thought I can
ever know. Oh! sacred Sea! I hear thy voice in-
vitingly— it hath a freshening and joyous call. They
say that in thy embrace is dishonour — ^that thy victims
cross not the fatal Styx — ^be it so ! — I would not meet
him in the Shades, for I should meet him still with
her. Rest — rest — rest ! — ^there is no other Elysium for
a heart like mine ! "
A sailor, half dozing on the deck, heard a slight
splash on the waters. Drowsily he looked up, and be-
hind, as the vessel merrily bounded on, he fancied he
saw something white above the waves ; but it vanished
in an instant. He turned round again, and dreamed of
his home and children.
538 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
When the lovers awoke, their first thought was of
each other — ^their next of Nvdial She was not to be
w
found — none had seen her since the night. Every
crevice of the vessel was searched — ^there was no trace
of her. Mysterious from first to last, the blind Thes-
salian had vanished for ever from the living world 1
They guessed her fate in silence: and Glaucus and
lone, while they drew nearer to each other (feeling
each other the world itself) forgot their deliverance,
and wept as for a departed sister.
CHAPTER THE LAST
WHEREIN ALL THINGS CEASE.
Letter from Glaucus to Sallust, ten years after the
destruction of Pompeii,
Athens.
" Glaucus to his beloved Sallust — ^greeting and
health! — You request me to visit you at Rome — no,
Sallust, come rather to me at Athens ! I have forsworn
the Imperial City, its tumult and hollow joys. In my
own land henceforth I dwell for ever. The ghosts of
our departed greatness are dearer to me than the
gaudy life of your loud prosperity. There is a charm
to me which no other spot can supply, in the porticoes
hallowed still by holy and venerable shades. In the
oKve-groves of Ilissus I still hear the voice of poetry
— on the heights of Phyle, the clouds of twilight seem
yet the shrouds of departed freedom — the heralds —
the heralds — of the morrow that shall come! You
smile at my enthusiasm, Sallust! — Better be hopeful
in chains than resigned to their glitter. You tell me
you are sure that I cannot enjoy life in these melan-
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 539
choly haunts of a fallen majesty. You dwell with
rapture on the Roman splendours and the luxuries of
the imperial court. My Sallust — ' non sum qualis
eram * — I am not what I was ! The events of my life
have sobered the bounding blood of my youth. My
health has never quite recovered its wonted elasticity
ere it felt the pangs of disease, and languished in the
damps of a criminal's dungeon. My mind has never
shaken off the dark shadow of the Last Day of Pom-
peii— ^the horror and the desolation of that awful ruin !
— Our beloved, our remembered Nydia! I have reared
a tomb to her shade, and I see it every day from the
window of my study. It keeps alive in me a tender
recollection — b, not unpleasing sadness — which are but
a fitting homage to her fidelity, and the mysteriousness
of her early death. lone gathers the flowers, but my
own hand wreathes them daily around the tomb. She
was worthy of a tomb in Athens !
" You speak of the growing sect of the Christians at
Rome. Sallust, to you I may confide my secret; I
have pondered much over that faith — I have adopted
it. After the destruction of Pompeii, I met once more
with Olinthus — saved, alas, only for a day, and falling
afterwards a martyr to the indomitable energy of his
zeal. In my preservation from the lion and the earth-
quake he taught me to behold the hand of the un-
known God! I listened — ^believed — ^adored! My own,
my more than ever beloved lone, has also embraced
the creed! — a creed, Sallust, which, shedding light
over this world, gathers its concentrated glory, like a
sunset, over the next! We know that we are united
in the soul, as in the flesh, for ever and for ever I Ages
may roll on, our very dust be dissolved, the earth
S40 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
shrivelled like a scroll ; but round and round the circle
of eternity rolls the wheel of life — imperishable — ^un-
ceasing! And as the earth from the sun, so immor-
tality drinks happiness from virtue, which is the smile
upon the face of God ! Visit me, then, Sallust ; bring
with you the learned scrolls of Epicurus, Pythagoras,
Diogenes; arm yourself for defeat; and let us amidst
the groves of Academus dispute, under a surer guide
than any g^ranted to our fathers, on the mighty prob-
lem of the true ends of life and the nature of the soul.
" lone — at that name my heart yet beats ; — lone is
by my side as I write: I lift my eyes, and meet her
smile. The sunlight quivers over Hymettus: and
along my garden I hear the hum of the summer bees.
Am I happy, ask you? Oh, what can Rome give me
equal to what I possess at Athens? Here, everything
awakens the soul and inspires the affections — the
trees, the waters, the hills, the skies, are those of
Athens! — fair, though mourning — mother of the
Poetry and the Wisdom of the World. In my hall I
see the marble faces of my ancestors. In the Ce-
ramicus, I survey their tombs ! In the streets, I behold
the hand of Phidias and the soul of Pericles. Har-
modius, Aristogiton — they are everywhere — ^but in our
hearts! — in mine, at least, they shall not perish! If
anything can make me forget that I am an Athenian
and not free, it is partly the soothing — the love —
watchful, vivid, sleepless — of lone: — sl love that has
taken a new sentiment in our new creed ^ — a love
which none of our poets, beautiful though they be, had
shadowed forth in description; for mingled with re-
ligion, it partakes of religion ; it is blended with pure
and unworldly thoughts; it is that which we may
1 See note (b) at the end.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 541
hope to carry through eternity, and keep, therefore,
white and unsullied that we mav not blush to confess
it to our God ! This is the true type of the dark fable
of our Grecian Eros and Psyche — it is, in truth, the
soul asleep in the arms of love. And if this, our love,
support me partly against the fever of the desire for
freedom, my religion supports me more; for when-
ever I would grasp the sword and sound the shell, and
rush to a new Marathon (but Marathon without vic-
tory), I feel my despair at the chilling thought of my
country's impotence — the crushing weight of the Ro-
man yoke, comforted, at least, by the thought that
earth is but the beginning of life — that the glory of a
few years matters little in the vast space of eternity
— ^that there is no perfect freedom till the chains of
clay fall from the soul, and all space, all time, become
its heritage and domain. Yet, Sallust, some mixture
of the soft Greek blood still mingles with my faith. I
can share not the zeal of those who see crime and eter-
nal wrath in men who cannot believe as they. I shud-
der not at the creed of others. I dare not curse them —
I pray the Great Father to convert. This lukewarm-
ness exposes me to some suspicion amongst the Chris-
tians : but I forgive it ; and, not offending openly the
prejudices of the crowd, I am thus enabled to protect
my brethren from the danger of the law, and the con-
sequences of their own zeal. If moderation seem to
me the natural creature of benevolence, it gives, also,
the greatest scope of beneficence.
" Such, then, O Sallust ! is my life — such my opin-
ions. In this manner I greet existence and av^ait death.
And thou, glad-hearted and kindly pupil of Epicurus,
thou: But come hither, and see what enjoyments
what hopes are ours — ^and not the splendour of im-
542 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
perial banquets, nor shouts of the crowded circus, nor
the noisy forum, nor the glittering theatre, nor the
luxuriant gardens, nor the voluptuous baths of Rome,
— shall seem to thee to constitute a life of more vivid
and uninterrupted happiness than that which thou so
unreasonably pitiest as the career of Glaucus the Athe-
nian ! — Farewell ! "
Nearly seventeen centuries had rolled away when
the City of Pompeii was disinterred from its silent
tomb,^ all vivid with undimmed hues; its walls fresh
as if painted yesterday, — ^not a hue faded on the rich
mosaic of its floors, — in its forum the half-finished col-
umns as left by the workman's hand, — in its gardens
the sacrificial tripod, — ^in its halls the chest of treas-
ure,— in its baths the strigil, — in its theatres the coun-
ter of admission, — in its saloons the furniture and the
lamp, — in its triclinia the fragments of the last feast, —
in its cubicula the perfumes and the rouge of faded
beauty, — and everywhere the bones and skeletons of
those who once moved the springs of that minute yet
gorgeous machine of luxury and of life ! ^
In the house of Diomed, in the subterranean vaults,
twenty skeletons (one of a babe) were discovered in
one spot by the door, covered by a fine ashen dust, that
had evidently been wafted slowly through the aper-
tures, until it had filled the whole space. There were
jewels and coins, candelabra for unavailing light, and
wine hardened in the amphorae for the prolongation of
agonised life. The sand, consolidated by damps, had
taken the forms of the skeletons as in a cast ; and the
1 Destroyed a.d. 79 ; first discovered a.d. 1750.
2 See note (c) at the end.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 543
traveller may yet see the impression of a female neck
and bosom of young and round proportions — ^the trace
of the fated Julia ! It seems to the inquirer as if the
air had been gradually changed into a sulphurous va-
pour ; the inmates of the vaults had rushed to the door,
to find it closed and blocked up by the scoria without,
and in their attempts to force it, had been suffocated
with the atmosphere.
In the garden was found a skeleton with a key by
its bony hand, and near it a bag of coins. This is be-
lieved to have been the master of the house — the un-
fortunate Diomed, who had probably sought to escape
by the garden, and been destroyed either by the va-
pours or some fragment of stone. Beside some silver
vases lay another skeleton, probably of a slave.
The houses of Sallust and of Pansa, the Temple of
Isis, with the juggling concealments behind the
statues — the lurking-place of its holy oracles, — are
now bared to the gaze of the curious. In one of the
chambers of that temple was found a huge skeleton
with an axe beside it: two walls had been pierced by
the axe — ^the victim could penetrate no farther. In the
midst of the city was found another skeleton, by the
side of which was a heap of coins, and many of the
mystic ornaments of the fane of Isis. Death had fallen
upon him in his avarice, and Calenus perished simul-
taneously with Burbo! As the excavators cleared on
through the mass of ruin, they found the skeleton of
a man literally severed in two by a prostrate column;
the skull was of so striking a conformation, so boldly
marked in its intellectual, as well as its worse physical
developments, that it has excited the constant specula-
tion of every itinerant believer in the theories of
Spurzheim who has gazed upon that ruined palace of
544 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
the mind. Still, after the lapse of ages, the traveller
may survey that airy hall within whose cunning gal-
leries and elaborate chambers once thought, reasoned,
dreamed, and sinned, the soul Of Arbaces the Egyptian.
Viewing the various witnesses of a social system
which has passed from the world for ever — sl stranger,
from that remote barbarian Isle which the Imperial
Roman shivered when he named, paused amidst the
delights of the soft Campania and composed this
history.
NOTES
NOTES TO BOOK 1
(a) p. 5. — " Flowers more alluring to the ancient Italians
than to their descendants," &c.
The modern Italians, especially those of the more southern
parts of Italy, have a peculiar horror of perfumes; they
consider them remarkably unwholesome; and the Roman or
Neapolitan lady requests her visitors not to use them. What
is very strange, the nostril so susceptible of a perfume is won-
derfully obtuse to its reverse. You may literally call Rome,
" Sentina Gentium " — the sink of nations.
(b) p. 30. — " The sixth banqueter, who was the umbra of
Clodius."
A very curious and interesting treatise might be written on
the parasites of Greece and Rome. In the former, they were
more degraded than in the latter country. The Epistles of
Alciphron express, in a lively manner, the insults which they
underwent for the sake of a dinner: one man complains that
fish-sauce was thrown into his eyes — that he was beat on the
head, and given to eat stones smeared with honey; while a
courtesan threw at him a bladder filled with blood, which burst
on his face and covered him with the stream. The manner in
which these parasites repaid the hospitality of their hosts
was, like that of modern diners-out, by witty jokes and amus-
ing stories; sometimes they indulged practical jokes on each
other, " boxing one another's ears." The magistrates at
Athens appear to have looked very sternly upon these humble
buffoons, and they complain of stripes and a prison with no
philosophical resignation. In fact, the parasite seems at
Athens to have answered the purpose of the fool of the mid-
dle ages; but he was far more worthless and perhaps more
witty — the associate of courtesans, uniting the pimp with the
buffoon. This is a character peculiar to Greece. The Latin
545
546 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
comic writers made indeed prodigal use of the parasite; yet
he appears at Rome to have held a somewhat higher rank,
and to have met with a somewhat milder treatment, than at
Athens. Nor* do the delineations of Terence, which, in por-
traying Athenian manners, probably soften down whatever
would have be^n exaggerated to a Roman audience, present
so degraded or so abandoned a character as the parasite of
Alciphron and Athenaeus. The more haughty and fastidious
Romans often disdained indeed to admit such buffoons as
companions, and hired (as we may note in Pliny's Epistles)
fools or mountebanks, to entertain their guests and to supply
the place of the Grecian parasite. When (be it observed)
Clodius is styled parasite in the text, the reader must take the
modern, not the ancient interpretation of the word.
A very feeble, but very flattering reflex of the parasite was
the umbra or shadow, who accompanied any invited guest,
and who was sometimes a man of equal consequence, though
usually a poor relative, or an humble friend — in modem cant,
" a toady." Such is the umbra of our friend Clodius.
(O P- 34- — " The dice in summer, and I an aedile ! "
All games of chance were forbidden by law (" Vetita legi-
bus alea." — Horat. Od. xxiv. i, 3), except "in Saturnalibus,"
during the month of December; the sediles were charged with
enforcing this law, which, like all laws against gaming, in all
times, was wholly ineffectual.
(d) p. 42. — " The small but graceful temple consecrated to
Isis."
Sylla is said to have transported to Italy the worship of the
Egyptian Isis.^ It soon became " the rage," and was pecul-
iarly in vogue with the Roman ladies. Its priesthood were
sworn to chastity, and, like all such brotherhoods, were noted
for their licentiousness. Juvenal styles the priestesses by a
name (Isiacae lenae) that denotes how convenient they were
to lovers, and under the mantle of night many an amorous
intrigue was carried on in the purlieus of the sacred temples.
1 In the Campanian cities the trade with Alexandria was
probably more efficacious than the piety of Sylla (no very
popular example, perhaps) in establishing the worship of the
favourite deity of Egypt.
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII $47
A lady vowed for so many nights to watch by the shrine of
Isis; — it was a sacrifice of continence towards her husband,
to be bestowed on her lover! While one passion of human
nature was thus appealed to, another scarcely less strong was
also pressed into the service of the goddess — ^namely Credulity.
The priests of Isis arrogated a knowledge of magic and of
the future. Among women of all classes — and among many
of the harder sex — the Egyptian sorceries were consulted and
revered as oracles. Voltaire, with much plausible ingenuity,
endeavours to prove that the gipsies are a remnant of the
ancient priests and priestesses of Isis, intermixed with those
of the goddess of Syria. In the time of Apuleius these holy
impostors had lost their dignity and importance; despised
and poor, they wandered from place to place selling prophecies
and curing disorders; and Voltaire shrewdly bids us remark
that Apuleius has not forgot their peculiar skill in filching
from outhouses and courtyards — afterwards they practised
palmistry and singular dances (query, the Bohemian dances?).
** Such," says the too-conclusive Frenchman, " such has been
the end of the ancient religion of Isis and Osiris, whose very
names still impress us with awe ! " At the time in which my
story is cast, the worship of Isis was, however, in the highest
repute; and the wealthy devotees sent even to the Nile, that
they might sprinkle its mysterious waters over the altars of
the goddess. I have introduced the ibis in the sketch of the
temple of Isis, although it has been supposed that that bird
languished and died when taken from Egypt. But from vari-
ous reasons, too long now to enumerate, I incline to believe
that the ibis was by no means unfrequent in the Italian tem-
ples of Isis, though it rarely lived long, and refused to breed
in a foreign climate.
NOTE TO BOOK II
(a) p. 176. — " The. marvels of Faustus are not comparable
to those of Apollonius."
During the earlier ages of the Christian epoch, the heathen
philosophy, especially of Pythagoras and of Plato, had become
debased and adulterated, not only by the wildest mysticism,
but the most chimerical dreams of magic. Pythagoras, indeed,
548 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
scarcely merited a^ nobler destiny; for though he was an ex-
ceedingly clever man, he was a most prodigious mountebank,
and was exactly formed to be the great father of a school of
magicians. Pythagoras himself either cultivated magic or ar-
rogated its attributes, and his followers told marvellous tales
of his writing on the moon's disc, and appearing in several
places at once. His golden rules and his golden thigh were
in especial veneration in Magna Graecia, and out of his doc-
trines of occult numbers his followers extracted numbers of
doctrines. The most remarkable of the later impostors who
succeed him wiis Apollonius of Tyana, referred to in the text.
All sorts of prodigies accompanied the birth of this gentleman.
Proteus, the Egyptian god, foretold to his mother, yet preg-
nant, that it was he himself (Proteus) who was about to re-
appear in the world through her agency. After this Proteus
might well be considered to possess the power of transforma-
tion! Apollonius knew the language of birds, read men's
thoughts in their bosoms, and walked about with a familiar
spirit. He was a devil of a fellow with a devil, and induced
a mob to stone a poor demon of venerable and mendicant ap-
pearance, who, after the lapidary operation, changed into a
huge dog. He raised the dead, passed a night with Achilles,
and, when Domitian was murdered, he called out aloud
(though at Ephesus at the moment), "Strike the tyrant!"
The end of so honest and great a man was worthy his life.
It would seem that he ascended into heaven. What less could
be expected of one who had stoned the devil ! Should any
English writer meditate a new Faust, I recommend to him
Apollonius.
But the magicians of this sort were philosophers (!) — ex-
cellent men and pious; there were others of a far darker and
deadlier knowledge, the followers of the Goetic magic; in
other words, the Black Art. Both of these, the Goetic and
the Theurgic, seem to be of Egyptian origin; and it is evi-
dent, at least, that their practitioners appeared to pride them-
selves on drawing their chief secrets from that ancient source ;
and both are intimately connected with astrology. In attribut-
ing to Arbaces the knowledge and the repute of magic, as well
as that of the science of the stars, I am, therefore, perfectly
in accordance with the spirit of his time, and the circumstances
of his birth. He is a characteristic of that age. At one time, I
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 549
purposed to have developed and detailed more than I have
done the pretensions of Arbaces to the mastery of his art, and
to have initiated the reader into the various sorceries of the
period. But as the character of the Egyptian grew upon me,
I felt that it was necessary to be sparing of that machinery
which, thanks to the march of knowledge, every one now may
fancy he can detect. Such as he is, Arbaces is become too
much of an intellectual creation to demand a frequent repeti-
tion of the coarser and more physical materials of terror. I
suffered him, then, merely to demonstrate his capacities in the
elementary and obvious secrets of his craft, and leave the
subtler magic he possesses to rest in mystery and shadow.
As to the Witch of Vesuvius — her spells and her philtres,
her cavern and its appliances, however familiar to us of the
North, are faithful also to her time and nation. A witch of a
lighter character, and manners less ascetic, the learned reader
will remember with delight in the Golden Ass of Apuleius;
and the reader who is not learned, is recommended to the
spirited translations of that enchanting romance by Taylor.
NOTE TO BOOK III
(a) p. 199. — " The influence of the evil eye."
This superstition, to which I have more than once alluded
throughout this work, still flourishes in Magna Graecia, with
scarcely diminished vigour. I remember conversing at Naples
with a lady of the highest rank, and of intellect and informa-
tion very uncommon amongst the noble Italians of either sex,
when I suddenly observed her •change colour, and make a rapid
and singular motion with her finger. " My God, that man ! "
she whispered, tremblingly.
" What man ? "
"See! the Count ! he has just entered!"
" He ought to be much flattered to cause such emotion ;
doubtless he has been one of the Signora's admirers ? "
" Admirer ! Heaven forbid. He has the evil eye ! His look
fell full upon me. Something dreadful will certainly happen."
" I see nothing remarkable in his eyes."
" So much the worse. The danger is greater for being dis-
guised. He is a terrible man. The last time he looked upon
5SO THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
my husband, it was at cards, and he lost half his income at a
sitting ; his ill-luck was miraculous. The count met my little
boy in the gardens, and the poor child broke his arm that
evening. Oh! what shall I do? something dreadful will cer-
tainly happen — and, heavens ! he is admiring my cap ! "
" Does every one find the eyes of the count equally fatal,
and his admiration equally exciting ? "
" Every one— he is universally dreaded ; and, what is very
strange, he is so angry if he sees you avoid him ! "
** That is very strange indeed 1 the wretch ! "
At Naples the superstition works well for the jewellers, —
so many charms and talismans as they sell for the ominous
fascination of the mal-occhio! In Pompeii, the talismans were
equally numerous, but not always of so elegant a shape, nor
of so decorous a character. But, generally speaking, a coral
ornament was, as it now is, among the favourite averters of
the evil influence. Thebans about Pontus were supposed to
have an hereditary claim to this charming attribute, and could
even kill grown-up men with a glance. As for Africa, where
the belief also still exists, certain families could not only de-
stroy children, but wither up trees — they did this, not with
curses but praises. The malus oculus was not always different
from the eyes of other people. But persons, especially of the
fairer sex, with double pupils to the organ, were above all to be
shunned and dreaded. The Illyrians were said to possess this
fatal deformity. In all countries, even in the North, the eye
has ever been held the chief seat of fascination; but now-a-
days, ladies with a single pupil manage the work of destruc-
tion pretty easily. So much do we improve upon our fore-
fathers I
NOTE TO BOOK IV
(a) p. 461.
" We cafe not for gods up above us, —
We know there's no god for this earth, boys ! "
The doctrines of Epicurus himself are pure and simple. Far
from denying the existence of diviner powers, Velleius (the
defender and explainer of his philosophy in Cicero's dialogue
on the nature of the gods) asserts " that Epicurus was the
first who saw that there were gods, from the impression which
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 55 1
Nature herself makes on the minds of all men." He imagined
the belief of the Deity to be an innate or antecedent notion
{Tp6\'ni^a) of the mind — a doctrine of which modern meta-
physicians (certainly not Epicureans) have largely availed
themselves! He believed that worship was due to the divine
powers from the veneration which felicity and excellence com-
mand, and not from any dread of their vengeance, or awe of
their power: a sublime and fearless philosophy, suitable per-
haps to half a dozen great and refined spirits, but which would
present no check to the passions of the mass of mankind. Ac-
cording to him, the gods were far too agreeably employed in
contemplating their own happiness to trouble their heads
about the sorrows and the joys, the quarrels and the cares, the
petty and transitory affairs, of man. For this earth they were
unsympathising abstractions :
" Wrapt up in majesty divine.
Can they regard on what we dine ! "
Cotta, who, in the dialogue referred to, attacks the philosophy
of Epicurus with great pleasantry, and considerable, though
not uniform, success, draws the evident and practical corollary
from the theory that asserts the non-interference of the gods.
"How," says he, "can there be sanctity, if the gods regard
not human affairs ? — if the Deity show no benevolence to man,
let us dismiss Him at once. Why should I entreat Him to be
propitious? He cannot be propitious, — since, according to you,
favour and benevolence are only the effects of imbecility."
Cotta, indeed, quotes from Posidonius {De Natura Deorum),
to prove that Epicurus did not really believe in the existence
of a God ; but that his concession of a being wholly nugatory
was merely a precaution against accusations of atheism. " Epi-
curus could not be such a fool," says Cotta, " as sincerely to
believe that a Deity has the members of a man without the
power to use them; a thin pellucidity, regarding no one and
doing nothing." And, whether this be true or false concern-
ing Epicurus, it is certain that, to all effects and purposes, his
later disciples were but refining atheists. The sentiments ot-
tered in the song in the text are precisely those professed in
sober prose by the graceful philosophers of the garden, who,
as they had wholly perverted the morals of Epicurus, which
are at once pure and practical, found it a much easier task to
corrupt his metaphysics, which are equally dangerous and
visionary.
552 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
»f
NOTES TO BOOK V
(a) p. 528. — " Rivers of the molten lava.'
Various theories as to the exact mode by which Pompeii
was destroyed have been invented by the ingenious; I have
adopted that which is the most generally received, and which,
upon inspecting the strata, appears the only one admissible by
common sense; namely, a destruction by showers of ashes,
and boiling water, mingled with frequent irruptions of large
stones, and aided by partial convulsions of the earth. Her-
culaneum, on the contrary, appears to have received not only
the showers of ashes, but also inundations from molten lava;
and the streams referred to in the text must be considered as
destined for that city rather than for Pompeii. The volcanic
lightnings introduced in my description were evidently among
the engines of ruin at Pompeii. Papyrus, and other of the
more inflammable materials, are found in a burnt state. Some
substances in metal are partially melted; and a bronze statue
is completely shivered, as by lightning. Upon the whole (ex-
cepting only the inevitable poetic license of shortening the
time which the destruction occupied), I believe my description
of that awful event is very little assisted by invention, and
will be found not the less accurate for its appearance in a
Romance.
(&) p. 540. — " A love that has taken a new sentiment in our
new creed."
What we now term, and feel to be, sentiment in love, was
very little known amongst the ancients, and at this day, is
scarcely acknowledged out of Christendom. It is a feeling
intimately connected with — not a belief, but a conviction, that
the passion is of the soul, and, like the soul, immortal. Cha-
teaubriand, in that work so full both of error and of truth,
his essay on The Genius of Christianity, has referred to this
sentiment with his usual eloquence. It makes, indeed, the
great distinction between the amatory poetry of the moderns
and that of the ancients. And I have thought that I might,
with some consonance to truth and nature, attribute the con-
sciousness of this sentiment to Glaucus after his conversion to
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 553
Christianity, though he is only able vaguely to guess at, rather
than thoroughly to explain, its cause.
(c) p. 542. — " And everywhere the bones and skeletons of
those who once moved the springs of that minute yet gorgeous
machine of luxury and of life ! "
At present (1834) there have been about three hundred and
fifty or four hundred skeletons discovered in Pompeii ; but as
a great part of the city is yet to be disinterred, we can scarcely
calculate the number of those who perished in the destruction.
Still, however, we have every reason to conclude that they
were very few in proportion to those who escaped. The ashes
had been evidently cleared away from many of the houses, no
doubt for the purpose of recovering whatever treasures had
been left behind. The mansion of our friend Sallust is one
of those thus revisited. The skeletons which, reanimated for
a while, the reader has seen play their brief parts upon the
stage, under the names of Burbo, Calenus, Diomed, Julia, and
Arbaces, were found exactly as described in the text. May
they have been reanimated more successfully for the pleasure
of the reader than they have been for the solace of the author,
who has vainly endeavoured, in the work which he now con-
cludes, to beguile the most painful, gloomy, and despondent
period of a life, in the web of which has been woven less of
white than the world may deem ! But like most other friends,
the Imagination is capricious, and forsakes us often at the
moment in which we most need its aid. As we grow older, we
begin to learn that, of the two, our more faithful and steadfast
comforter is — Custom. But I should apologise for this sud-
den and unseasonable indulgence of a momentary weakness
— it is but for a moment. With returning health returns also
that energy without which the soul were given us in vain, and
which enables us calmly to face the evils of our being, and
resolutely to fulfil its objects. There is but one philosophy
(though there are a thousand schools), and its name is
Fortitude.
" TO BEAR IS TO CONQUER OUR FATE 1 "
THE END
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